Survival of the Fittest
by Phantom SWH
Summary: Follows a survivor named Scott Heimann as he tries to make it through each day in the horrific new world he has found himself in.
1. Chapter 1

**Note to readers**: This story has been written for those familiar with the back story and workings of Dead Frontier. I wrote it nearly two and a half years ago, so there are probably countless errors in it. I will not be updating or continuing the story. Reviews are greatly appreciated. If you wish to learn more, you can check the dead frontier wikia.

**Prologue: Insomnia**

Scott Heimann hadn't got a good night sleep since, well, before. Before this nightmare that no one woke up from. Before, when the world made sense and this kind of thing only happened in cheesy Sci-Fi movies. "Lot of good it's doing you, talking to yourself." He thought. He turned his face away from the dying fire, and tried, fruitlessly to sleep. Again and again, the events from the past year pushed the weariness from his limbs, filling them with a need to move, to run, to hide. He closed his eyes, and tried to shut himself away from the world. A world so screwed up that God himself gave up on it.

**Chapter 1: Chaos**

Morning broke. Scott got up, muscles aching. "What I would pay to just sleep in a clean bed for one night." he thought. Even then, he doubted that he would ever sleep as good as before the outbreak. Getting chased by ravenous zombies through the dark made for some crazy nightmares. He had spent the past few months picking his way across the country, searching for a pocket of humanity. But so far, his efforts had been largely unsuccessful. The best that he had found so far was three groups of looters, each of whom had tried to kill him. He wondered if he was the only sane person left in the world. _You are alone…_ A cold, dark voice inside his chest whispered. _You're the only one left… everyone else is… gone… dead…. One of them…. _

"No!" Scott yelled, pushing away the thoughts. "There has to be someone else, at least one person, even if only one…" He trailed off, and shook his head. "There has to be. I survived, someone else had to." Seeing that he was just lying there, he cursed and got up, stretched, and began tearing down the barricaded door that separated him from the rest of the world. He finished, gathered his meager supplies, and walked outside. Fresh air felt nice in his lungs, the damp, musty scent of indoors was already gone. He quickly scanned his surroundings, and, seeing nothing, began picking his way down the street.

After a few minutes of walking, he encountered his first infected of the day. It was normal; its flesh was riddled with wounds from past encounters with humans, and from just the effect of walking around all day, every day for the past year. But appearances are deceiving. Beneath the rot lies a strength that far exceeds any average human. Scott walked up to it, calmly unsheathing his machete, not wanting to draw a lot of attention just yet. It turned, and a loud moan came from its ruined mouth. It shuffled towards him, eyes lighting up in anticipation. "Not today, pal." With one heavy swing, Scott chopped into its neck. A gurgling sigh came from the beast as it slumped to the ground. Scott smiled, and then stomped on its neck, breaking it like a wet branch.

Before the outbreak, he would have probably of screamed and run away, but the past year had hardened him into a lethal killing machine. It was destroy or be destroyed world nowadays, and he was not planning on dying any time soon. Sheathing his weapon, he continued down the street. Nothing else eventful happened that day, aside from the killing of numerous more infected.

Seeing that there was only about another hour of sunlight left, Scott made his way towards a sturdy looking pawn shop. Walking in the empty doorway, I scanned the room for anything to barricade the door with. Seeing a sofa, he shut the door and shoved it in front of the wooden door. The dull thump told him that it would hold, its wood was still relatively strong. Scott walked behind the counter; the heavy grating would stop any zombie from getting in. He took a couple of chairs setting behind a desk in the back and shoved them under the handle of the door leading into his little sanctuary. Kicking away debris that littered the floor, he laid my sleeping mat and other supplies down. Only then did he hear the shuffling, the light brush of bare feet against carpet. He slowly turned, and even though he saw it, his brain refused to believe it. Standing just a few feet away, watching him, was a six foot four irradiated infected.

"Jesus…" was all that came out of his mouth before the thing emitted a deep roar, the sound splitting his eardrums. It leapt at him, too fast to see, as Scott reached for his gun. It was too fast.

Chaos ensured.

**Chapter 2: The Dead House**

The mutant crashed into Scott, sending his body flying into the metal grating of the cashier's table. The screen bent inward by the fore of his weight, and he tumbled to the ground. Instinctively, Scott rolled to the right, determined that, even if he was going to die, he wasn't going down easily. A huge green fist smashed into the ground where he was moments before, shattering the floorboards below the soft carpet. Scott lashed out with his foot, kicking the monstrous elbow. He heard an audible crack, but was unsure if it was the thing's arm, or his own leg, it had felt like he had kicked a limestone fence post. The zombie roared again, raising its hands high above its head, clasping them together. Scott pulled himself out of the way just in time; the beast's fists came down like a sledgehammer, crushing the cashier's desk. Scott jumped up and threw his shoulder into the infected monster's chest, knocking it off balance. He quickly reached for his gun, but found that it was not there. It had fallen out of his side holster in the struggle, and he spotted it lying a few feet away from him.

Scott started towards it, but a massive weight slammed into him, knocking him to the floor. The infected pressed its enormous forearm into Scott's throat, cutting off air from his lungs. Madly flailing, Scott desperately attempted to throw it off. Only then did he remember his knife. Scott reached into his boot and, clasping the handle of the large bowie knife, pulled it out. Flipping it around his hand, He slammed it as hard as he could into the base of the creature's neck. The blade sunk deep into the monster's neck, all the way to the handle. The beast roared in agony, loosening its grip. Bring his leg up; Scott shoved the zombie off of himself. He crawled over to his discarded sidearm, desperate to reach it before the zombie recovered. Reaching it, he cocked the hammer back on the revolver and turned. The infected was just getting to its feet when he pounded two heavy .44 caliber rounds into its chest. Scott squeezed the trigger again, this time aiming for the zombie's knee. It found its mark, and the green infected zombie's leg buckled, sending it sprawling to the ground. Scott calmly walked up to the writhing, screaming mass and fired again, point blank, into the forehead of the monstrosity. Its head jerked back, a red mist of brains squirting out the sides. The beast let out one long, last breath, and was still.

Scott stood there for a few moments, sweat pouring down his face, staring at it. He was unable to comprehend how this thing used to be a person. Pulling his knife out of its neck, he spotted another knife it its back, one that he had not seen in the struggle. I tried to pull it out, and it wouldn't budge. Yanking on it with all my might, it came free with a sickening sucking sound. It was a huge, 12" hunting knife. The blade was rather skinny the base, but widened considerably at the tip, giving it a strange, lopsided appearance. "People used to use these things when bear hunting." Scott said to himself. He then realized that he wasn't the first person to encounter this monster, and whoever this belonged to before had probably not been as lucky as him. A faint moaning sound caught his attention, growing louder, with many, many more joining in. With a start, he remembered the loud roar, the sharp cracks of gunfire. Scott quickly gathered his supplies as the chorus of moans became louder, more insistent. From the sound of it, hundreds of the infected were coming, and he was on the menu.

**Chapter 3: Flight from the Dark**

As quickly and as quietly as he could, Scott grabbed all of his supplies, and tore out of the pawnshop. The scene in front of him was one of utter madness. Hundreds of infected zombies were pouring out of buildings, alleyways, and any other conceivable object, from all directions. Countless scores of the infected, in their lust to get to him first, were leaping out of the different levels of buildings, smacking wetly against the pavement, some getting up, some lying still. Quickly choosing the direction with the least amount of zombies, Scott sprinted towards an abandoned insurance firm building; a picture of a smiling man giving him a thumbs up sign was barely hanging to its side. Scott nearly ran into a group of the shambling undead as he ran inside. Seeing that there were too many to deal with, in too small a space, Scott ran back into the street.

The moaning horde was closing in, fast. Spinning into the alleyway adjacent to the insurance building, Scott spotted a fire escape dangling a few feet above him. Leaping up with all his might, Scott grabbed the second to last rung of the ladder, and attempted to pull himself up. His blood ran cold when he felt a decaying hand grip his boot. Kicking like a man possessed, He shook it off, and climbed into the lowest basket of the fire escape, trying to calm his beating heart, and get his breathing under control. He glanced into the window next to him and saw an infected trying in vain to eat him through the glass. Scott quickly got to his feet, and proceeded to climb up the stairs as fast as possible. When he reached the third story, he saw for infected walking down the fire escape, towards him. Quickly pulling out his revolver, he took aim at the nearest zombies head. Its head nearly exploded with the force of the bullet penetrating its skull. Scott Aimed at the second, and it likewise fell. Taking aim yet again, he squeezed the trigger and *click* was all he heard. He had forgotten to reload.

Desperately holstering it, he pulled out the new knife he had obtained from the green zombie. The closest infected, a skinny female, was much faster than the other, got to him first. Scott swiped the knife, and it cut deep into her neck. It stumbled for a moment, and Scott used this to his advantage. He grabbed the zombie by the shoulder, spun it around, and jammed the blade into the back of its neck, severing its spinal cord. This one taken care of, Scott moved up the stairs towards the last of the monsters, a huge, heavyset man. Scott could not take this one down like the other one, it had a height advantage on him, and its ample belly was too large for him to get close enough to its head without risking a bite. Frustrated, Scott lashed out at its chest, the knife cutting through it like a knife through warm butter. He hacked at it again, this time targeting the fat of its stomach. He cut through it, but cold intestines poured out of the wound onto Scotts hands. Leaping back, he tripped and fell down the few stairs leading up the side of the building. The infected, obviously seeing its chance, attempted to jump on him. It came short however, and it too, fell.

Scott, being more coordinated, was the first to get up. He would have dispatched the zombie then and there, but he had dropped his new knife in the fight, and was in too enclosed a space to use his machete. The infected was getting to its feet when Scott made his move. Before it could get its balance, Scott shoved the rotting corpse of a man over the railing. The zombie fell three stories before it hit the ground, a sickening crunch was the last sound it made. When Scott looked over the rail, he saw the large mob of the infected growing, all clustered around the fire escape that he had used to get away.

Knowing that it would take them only moments to find a way to get on it, for there were windows attached to every level of the staircase, Scott retrieved his fallen knife, and quickly sprinted up the last flights of stairs to the roof. There was only a small door and the escape leading to the roof, so he was relatively safe for the moment. Searching for a way off the building, Scott saw none. Two sides of the roof faced streets, while the other two led to taller building, so he couldn't jump to another roof.

Jogging over to the door, Scott heard desperate pounding, a sure sign of zombies trying to get to him. Not knowing what else to do, Scott reloaded his revolver, sadly seeing that he only had a few rounds left. The bangs on the aluminum door were growing louder, and more insistent. Not only that, but he heard the thumping of feet running up the fire escape. Fear slowly rose in Scott's chest, threatening to overcome him. Suddenly, he had idea. "Screw it" He thought, and leapt off the roof towards a window of the building adjacent to it. Time seemed to slow down as he neared his target; an overwhelming sense of exhilaration going through him, then was replaced with utter panic as he smashed into the window. Scott's left shoulder hit the wall next to the window, sending him spinning into the room in a mix of shattered glass, blood, and curses. Scott's head slammed into the ground and his vision flashed red and white. The last thought that crossed his mind was "What the hell was I thinking?" as the world slowly faded to darkness.

**Chapter 4: Others**

Scot slowly regained consciousness in pain. There were small, sharp pains from his head to his feet, and a more insistent one in his shoulder. Groaning, he tried to sit up, but the throbbing in his arm took his breath away. He turned his head to look, and as he did, he noticed that he was lying in a small pool of his own blood. Horror covered him, and Scott quickly scooted away from where he was lying a few moments ago. To his relief, the puddle was not a big as he had first thought, but it was still big enough to make him worry. Then his attention was turned back to his shoulder, which he painfully remembered had hit the wall on his jump. It was burning with shooting pain s down his arm. He tried to move it and found that he could not; each time he tried only intensified the sensations. Only then did he see that it was out of place, it was either dislocated or broken, Scott hoped the prior. Bracing himself, he forcefully shoved it upwards and brought his shoulder down. An audible crack and a quick, unbearable pain exploded, and then quickly died away to relief. The fire died down to a dull ache, and Scott began picking the glass shards out of his back and legs, hoping that he could get them all.

After several minutes, Scott realized that he was alone, not being horribly devoured by countless infected that had raced upon him while he was unconscious. He quickly scanned the room, and saw why. The apartment room that he had jumped into had its door heavily barricaded, wooden planks and every other movable piece of furniture was stacked up, stopping anything from coming in. Scott then saw the original owner, slumped down, brains painted against the wall behind him. He had apparently lost all hope, and in desperation, shot himself with the hunting shotgun lying in his lap. Scott walked over to the corpse and picked up the shotgun, then patted the dead man on the arm. "Thanks buddy, that's two I owe you." He said out loud. He grabbed the two boxes of shells that were next to him, one full, and the other almost empty. Deciding that standing there would do him no good, Scott began tearing down the barricade.

After he had done that, Scott cautiously walked down the hall, shotgun in hand. He walked down two flights of stairs when he began hearing voices.

"From the looks of it, he'll be up a few floors higher." Said one.

"Crazy bastard must of panicked." Said another.

"Anyway, he might still be alive, so hurry up!" Said the first one again.

Scott almost ran down to meet them, but memories of raiders that he had encountered before made him stop. Where these men trying to help him, or just take his supplies? Scott decided that he wanted, no, needed help, and that if there was a possibility they might kill him, so be it. He quickly stepped down the stairs and was about to walk through a doorway where he thought he had heard the voices when the air around him exploded with machine gun fire. Scott rolled out of the way as the wall behind him burst into woodchips from the force of the bullets.

"Stop shooting!" Scott yelled.

"Huh?" came the reply. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

"I'll come out if you won't shoot." Replied Scott"

"Alright, but keep your hands where we can see them. One wrong move and your dead."

Scott tossed the shotgun out from his cover, and walked out with his hands on his head. Two men walked up to him, guns raised.

"You that guy that decided that he could fly?" Asked the first man, dressed all in black.

"That's me." Scott said with a shaky laugh.

"You could have killed yourself. What happened?" The man in black asked.

Scott told them of his encounter with the green zombie, and how the horde had appeared moments later. Then of his flight to the roof, and his decision to jump.

"Well, just living this long is enough to say that you aren't completely helpless, so you can stick around for a while." Said the man. "My name's Slayer, and this is Bleach." Slayer said, holding out his hand.

"Scott Heimann." Scott replied. But wondered "Slayer? Bleach? What kind of names are those?"

"We'd better move out." Beach said "That gunfire is bound to attract some attention."

Scott picked up his shotgun, and walked down the hallway with little group that he had found himself in, and his spirits soared. Things were looking bright for the first time in a long time.

Chapter 5: Bloodbath

Slayer, Bleach, and Scott walked out of the now deserted apartment and into the street. Surprisingly, no zombies remained; all had either wandered off, or had been killed when Slayer and Bleach had entered. Seeing this, Scott asked them:

"How long was it before you got in?"

"I'd say about half an hour." Bleach said. It took a while for the horde to move on, and we got impatient with the remaining infected, but they didn't pose much of a problem. Slayer took care of them."

Scott noted the large, impressive looking sniper rifle on his back. The words "The Jackal" were stenciled in on the barrel.

They walked in silence for a while; Scott realized that he was following them. They at least seemed to know where they were going. Scott had headed to Fairview after he had heard over a CB radio that there was some kind of "Outpost" in the western half of the city. Scott discarded this at first, thinking that it was just another guy in his basement messing around. But the thought had lingered in his mind until he decided to see if it was real or not. Wanting to find out for sure, Scott questioned:

"So, There is supposed to be some kind of survivor camp in the city, you guys know anything about it?"

Bleach and Slayer stopped to turn and stare at him, open mouthed.

"You don't know the outpost?" Bleach finally asked.

Scott shook his head."Man, you've been missing out. You haven't ever been there or anything?" Slayer asked.

Feeling stupider by the second, Scott again shook his head.

"We'll show you the way, just keep following us." Slayer said, and turned to continue on.

Scott decided to just keep his mouth shut for a while, and walked after them. "So there is an outpost, and there has to be more people there!" He thought to himself. Scott almost bumped into Slayer, who had kneeled down, and was taking aim at a distant figure. Scott waited to she if he could hit such a far away target. The rifle made a spitting sound, and the figure fell. Impressed, Scott decided that he was happy that he had this guy as a friend. "Well, you might think of them as friends, but they probably don't think of you as one." Scott thought miserably.

"Take cover!" Slayer whispered, and in a blur of movement, rolled behind a burnt out van. Bleach was only a few moments behind, and Scott, the last. Pulling out a sturdy looking machine gun, Bleach asked what they were up against. Scott felt a pang of fear when he heard this. Slayer was an amazing shot with the rifle, Bleach had a .50 cal machine gun that could tear a guy in half with one shot, and _they _were taking cover?

"There is a large group up ahead, I'd say about twenty strong." Slayer explained.

"What kind?" Bleach asked."Mostly longarms, a few other reds." Slayer said.

Scott didn't know what "longarms" or "reds" meant, but when he peeked out from their cover, he knew. There were several zombies coming towards them, their movements more fluid than the regular infected, and they were faster, much faster. The thing that was most impressive about them, though, was their extremely long arms. Even when they were bent, they were nearly touching the ground. They looked like if you took a seven-foot tall guy and doubled the length of his arms, then put enough muscle to shame a gorilla on them, you got a longarm.

"What's the plan?" Scott asked.

"See if they will pass by." Bleach said.

But it was too late for that. The wind picked up ever so slightly, and twenty-some heads simultaneously turned towards them. Slowly, they started to speed up, until they were jogging. Bleach got up, and sent a storm of lead towards them. The impact of the bullets was tremendous. Blood and flesh flew everywhere; some fell, but most just seemed to be hampered a little by the furious assault on them. Many of their heads started exploding for some reason, and Scott strongly suspected that Slayer was responsible.

"Don't just stand there!" yelled bleach over the roar of his gun. "Start shooting you moron!"

Scott quickly pulled out the shotgun, and blasted a few shells towards them. The impacts seemed to slow them down more than hurt them, so he pulled out his .45. Aiming for the head, Scott squeezed the trigger, and to his satisfaction, one zombie fell and did not move. They had killed about three fourths of the infected before the moans were heard. With a start, Scott remembered the episode on the roof, and turned around to make sure that there was a means of quick escape. There was none. Infected began pouring out of the buildings behind the first group, most of them being immediately mowed down by the gunfire.

"In the building!" Slayer shouted a command.

They sprinted into a restaurant; any infected in their way was immediately destroyed. They took cover behind one of the counters, and began moving tables in front of them, making a "wall" The angry moans of the infected growing louder every second.

**Chapter 6: Rescue**

Scott had thought that what he had gone through a few hours before this was the worst the world had to offer. He was wrong. Thousands of the infected were attempting to force their way through the doorway, and a few of the larger windows. A pile of bodies was forming in the few feet in front of the main doorway, as each infected walked through it was instantly cut down. But they just kept coming. Over the roar of the gunfire, moans, and insistent pounding of the infected against the walls, came the ominous clicking of an empty clip.

"Shit..." Bleach cursed, and quickly rummaged around his pack for another string of bullets.

"Hurry up!" Scott shouted, as the tide of zombies swelled past the front of the doorway, and into the building.

The amount of zombies outside was amazing, it seemed as if every singly infected in the world was coming for them. Scott picked up his fallen shotgun and pounded several rounds into the wall of bodies, sending most of them sprawling. With a yell, Bleach finished reloading his large machinegun, and launched a furious assault on the oncoming horde. Scott saw Slayer speaking quickly into a green radio, then switched it off, and pulled a funny looking gun. It looked like an AK-47 with the back end chopped off, and the front end shortened. Scott reloaded his shotgun, certain that this would be their "last stand". Slayer began firing upon the horde, and with each shot of the gun, at least one, if not two, infected fell. Scott watched in awe as the gun tore through everything it was aimed at, and on top of it all, the kick was so powerful that Slayer seemed to have a hard time keeping it aimed straight. This was especially impressive, because Slayer had no problem with his rifle's kick, which was bound to be very strong.

"Stop staring, start shooting!" Bleach yelled.

Startled, Scott realized he had not fired a shot in nearly a minute. He aimed and fired, felt entirely insignificant, standing next to two death machines. With the infected pushed out of the doorways, Slayer raised his hand.

"On my mark!" he commanded, and pulled a "pineapple" fragmentation grenade out of his coat. He pulled the pin, lobbed it into the center of the sea of bodies. With a deafening explosion, the grenade detonated, sending bodies, limbs, and all other things in the blast zone, flying in every direction. The shockwave knocked everyone, including Slayer, Bleach, and Scott, to the ground. They were up in an instant, though, and they sprinted through the doorway, and into the street. The zombies, less coordinated as they were, were just getting to their feet, when bright headlights streamed across the blackness of night. Two trucks, armed with snowplows and .50 cal turrets, raced towards the three survivors, and screeched to a halt next to them.

"Get in!" The driver shouted, although this statement was completely unnecessary. The group climbed into the closest truck's bed, and began firing. The truck carrying them pulled away, while the other stayed behind to cover them. Scott saw that Bleach and Slayer were staring at him, thoughtfulness lining their faces.

"So you don't know about the outpost..." Bleach asked.

This was especially confusing to Scott, who expected them all to be talking about how lucky they were to be alive. Bleach and Slayer didn't seem to be fazed though.

"No," Scott said, "Where is it?"

"Its in the western portion of the city, in about the middle." Slayer answered. "That's where were headed. If there is an extra bed in the hospital, we'll see if they can do anything about your back."

Scott had completely forgotten about the glass cuts he had gotten while jumping through the window in his escape.

"What else is in the outpost? Is there food I can buy? I'm getting tired of candy bars and canned soup..." Scott asked hopefully.

"If you've got the money, there is anything that was in the old world. We're almost there." Slayer said.

The truck reached the top of a hill, revealing a large "clean" area below them with high walls, and all sorts of movement going on inside them.

"Welcome to Naysticias Holdout." Bleach said with a smile.

**Chapter 7: The Outpost**

The outpost was better than Scott had ever hoped. It had fresh water, food, and best of all, live people. Bleach and Scott had gotten off while Slayer had stayed behind, saying.

"I gotta see these trucks back where they belong, or some asshole will try and steal another one."

Bleach lead Scott through the outpost, explaining each different area, the marketplace, the yard, etc. When they finished their little tour, Bleach left, saying "You might want to get some more ammo for that shotgun." And he walked back into the crowd. Scott used his memory to make his way to the marketplace, which was a really bad name for it. It was basically a bunch of people shouting their prices over the rest, each one saying that they had the best deal. Scott walked up to a burley man with an eye patch and a sword strapped to his hip, seeing that he was selling shells.

"How much for the whole box?" Scott asked.

"I'll give it to you for eight hundred bucks." The man replied.

"Eight hundred..." Scott whistled softly, "Jesus, you could buy a box for twelve bucks before..."

"Yeah, well every damn bank has been cleaned out, and inflation is a bitch, so what?" The man growled. "Get outta my sight before I decide that you're worth a bullet."

Scott backed away quickly, and bumped into a woman. In a flash, She had a knife in her hand.

"Back off jerk." She threatened.

Scott decided that he did not like the marketplace anymore, so he moved towards a building labeled "Meeting Hall." He sat down on one of the empty benches, and a strange man came up to him.

"Are you selling that shotgun?" He asked.

"Umm... maybe..." Scott answered. "What's your offer?"

"I'll give you a this rifle for it." The man answered. "And 400 rounds."

Scott thought for a moment. He had used rifles quite a bit before the outbreak, so he was a pretty good shot, but nothing could beat the feeling of power you got while hoolding the shotgun. In the end, Scott decided he would take the rifle.

"Deal." He said. And the exchange was made.

Scott recognized his rifle from all the old war games he used to play. It was a M1 Grand, and it was in good working order. He didn't know if he had made a good trade, but he needed a better gun, and he didn't have much ammo for the shotgun.

"What's done is done." Scott thought, and yawned. It had been a long day. Scott looked for a place to sleep, and saw several. He headed for a building labeled "Hotel"

He walked into the lobby, which looked pretty much like one before the outbreak, except there were guards with M-16's watching your every move. He walked up to the attendant, and asked how much a room cost. She looked at him kind of funny, like he was making some bad joke, and said that a "Room" was thirty bucks a night.

He bought one surprised at how cheap they were, and headed into the sleeping area.

What it turned out to be was just a couple of gyms filled with cots and sleeping mats.

As he lay there, Scott felt more secure than he had ever been since the outbreak, walls and people surrounded him. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was "I'm finally safe."

Ten minutes later, sirens sounded. The outpost was under attack.

**Chapter 8: Outpost Attack**

Scott woke up, looking around wildly. People were scrambling around, grabbing their weapons, or fleeing. Scott picked up his new rifle and followed a large group of survivors to the meeting hall. The crowd centered around a raised platform, one man standing on it. The mob went silent as he shouted these words through a megaphone.

"You know the drill. These freaks want to eat us all, so lets wipe the bastards out!"

A deafening roar followed this as the crowd exploded into cheers, and they ran to different locations. Not knowing what else to do, Scott followed a small group of survivors out of the gate. He began wondering what they would be doing, when a solid looking door opened to a sturdy looking building. It was Secure; many outpost guards were inside, with plenty of food, water ammo, and anything else you could think of. They ran up the stairs to the roof, and promptly began loading their weapons. Scott was beginning to get the idea of what they would be doing. They spread out over the roof, and took positions. Scott asked a survivor what they would be up against.

"Your pretty much safe up here, you just have to try not to waste too much ammo on them. Take down the bigger ones, so the people at the main gate won't have very much trouble." And he walked away.

Scott began hearing moans a few minutes later. The noises made by the other battle stations were drawing more and more zombies out of the buildings. Then, the beasts came out. Hundreds of moaning corpses staggered into the street. They were immediately cut down by rifle fire, but more took their place. Without a scope, Scott had to wait until they were much closer. He looked at the other three men with him, noticing one was armed with a shotgun. He asked why this was, and the reply was:

"Ever try and shoot a crow with a rifle?" Scott heard the man mutter under his breath "Fucking new people."

The infected were about half way through the street, and Scott opened fire on them. His M1 had an enormous kick, and it didn't help that it didn't have a rubber shock absorber. His shoulder grew sore after about fifty rounds. Then Scott felt a tap on his shoulder. Three new people were standing there, and they took his group's positions. The two in Scott's group left saying, "We did our part, and we're going to get a drink."

As Scott walked by, he heard an OG officer say:

"We need more men in the junkyard, there getting hammered there."

Scott volunteered to go, along with a few others. They sprinted through a side entrance to the outpost, and made their way to the junkyard. Scott could see why the battle was going badly there. There was nothing to stop the zombie's advance, save for a few wrecked cars. Scott ran to one of then, crawled to the roof. There were hundreds of zombies milling about, all trying to get to the outpost, where the sirens rang a dinner bell to them. About fifty zombies chose the path nearest to him, and they worked their way through the trash. Scott took aim, and fired into the crowd, zombies dropped like flies.

As they were getting closer and closer, panic crept in Scott's brain. His shots grew wilder, and his accuracy decayed dramatically. The beasts swarmed up against the car, their hungry claws grabbing at Scott's boots. His terror extreme, Scott emptied his clip, and began smashing their heads with the butt of his rifle. He crushed bone and flesh, destroying a few zombies, but they just kept coming. They began crawling up the side of his car, when bullets tore through them. Two men with MP5's sprinted towards him, their guns blazing. The infected tried to get to them, but the endless stream of bullets mowed them down.

The assault stopped, Scott climbed down from the car, breathing heavily. He had just brushed with death, and decided that he would not like to do so again. His saviors finally got to him, and quickly asked if he was all right. Scott told them that he was fine, and that he owed them his life. They smiled and introduced themselves.

"My names Elijah Willson." Said the older of the two.

"Josue" Said the younger, who was only about sixteen.

"That was a crazy stunt you pulled," Elijah said, reloading his gun. "Trying to secure a section of the junkyard all by yourself, and with that." He said, pointing to Scott's M1.

"I didn't know what else to do..." Scott said, shrugging.

"Well, a rifle is always good, but you need something that can stop a lot of zombies in their tracks if your fighting in the Junkyard." Josue replied. "Comeon, we can still kill a few more zeds." And went to a section where there was more fierce fighting. They walked into an area, where about ten survivors were battling a rather large horde. Elijah and Josue went to the front, while Scott joined some more people on the side, picking of zombies too keep their numbers under control. They hat to still be on guard though; a zombie crept up behind them, and took a nasty bite out of one of the snipers legs. The zombie was immediately killed, but the bitten man turned to another, whispered something in his ear, and then shot himself. Startled, the snipers sent two men to cover their back, as to not let it happen again.

Scott fell into a rhythm of death. Aim, shoot, aim shoot, reload, aim again... He didn't know how long they were there, or how many zombies he killed, there was always another. His trance was broken only twice, once where he was nearly shot by another sniper, and again when an entire group was overwhelmed by the infected, the men's dying screams fading away into moans. Scott grew tired, his shoulder ached, and he felt like his arms were lead. Suddenly, when he took aim, there was nothing to shoot. A dead quiet surrounded the group, which lasted only for a few seconds, then one man shouted:

"We Won!"

This was immediately followed be cheers, hugs, crying, gunshots in the air, jumping around, and all around screaming. Scott found himself next to Josue and Elijah, they cheered and drank, and talked like they were old friends. When Josue said that they should do it again, they all immediately agreed. Nobody seemed concerned that just moments before, they were facing hell. They were all just happy to be alive.

**Chapter 9: The Gauntlet**

Their happiness would not last though. As soon as they re-entered the outpost, they knew something was horribly wrong. Nobody was celebrating. Even the marketplace, which usually was packed with people, was silent. There were sounds of a battle in the direction of the main gate, so the survivors of the junkyard headed that way. Someone spotted a figure in the distance, limping towards them. Scott recognized it as Bleach.

And, seeing that he was injured, Scott ran towards him.

"What the hell happened?" Scott demanded.

"The Main Gate fell. We were overwhelmed. You've got to go help them, there is something new there, something evil." Bleach stammered, and then passed out, falling to the ground.

"You heard the man!" Scott yelled. "To the Main Gate!"

A round of cheers and war cries followed this, as the party moved to the battle. Scott moved Bleach into a stall at the marketplace, so that he was out of the way if the zombies reached the center of the outpost. As he did, something from Bleaches coat fell to the ground. Scott picked it up, and, with a start, realized that it was half of Bleaches machinegun. The front half had been torn away in a crescent shape, as if a huge circular weight had fallen on it. Scott then saw something that made his blood run cold. A tooth was sunk near the damaged part of the gun. It had not been broken, but bitten. Scott shuddered to think of what monster could have done this, and dropped the now worthless gun to the ground. He turned and ran to the main gate, determined to help in any way possible.

Bleach had said the battle had gone badly. This was an understatement. The scene before Scott was one of utter chaos. Hundreds of small bands of survivors were fighting seemingly endless numbers of infected. What made matters worse, was the fact that many parts of the long sandbag wall had fallen, and the survivors were now locked in terrifying hand to hand combat. The ground was painted red with blood, and the screams of survivors being torn limb from limb were at a constant. Scott ran to a group of fighters, dispatching zombies as he went, and asked what he could do to help. The reply was just to kill as many as possible. Ant to avoid the "Crawlers." Scott didn't know what a "crawler" was, but he strongly suspected it was what was responsible for what had happened to Bleach's gun. He began shooting the infected, each shot carefully placed to conserve ammo. They just kept coming. Scott began noticing some differences in the zombies that he killed. The ones that were slightly purplish flesh were harder to kill, and they were more coordinated and cold move faster than their decomposing counterparts. Scott had to kill each one with a headshot; a simple shot to the chest would not take it down. Eventually, the M1 ran out of ammo, so Scott pulled out his trusty .45. Seeing that his zone was reasonably secure, Scott moved to an area with heavier fighting. There he met Elijah, who was having trouble with his MP5.

"It's jammed." He said, "And I don't want to move to the gauntlet."

"The gauntlet?" Scott asked.

"Yeah," Elijah answered "That's where melee fighters go, its suicide."

"Where is it?" Scott asked. "I'll help them."

"You'll kill yourself!" Elijah screamed. "The crawlers are all over it!"

"There are other people there." Scott reminded him. "Nobody wants to die."

"Fine! Kill yourself! Its by the entrance to the rooftops." Elijah said, and began working to repair his gun.

Scott sprinted to the rooftops, determined to save some people. He didn't know why, but he felt obligated to be at the area with the heaviest fighting. He soon reached "the gauntlet" and saw why it was called that. The survivors had moved cars, tables, and any other debris to make a funnel, the zeds on the opening end. They would move in, and be forced to come through the small end; about three could fit through at once. There, the defenders, who used anything from lead pipes to swords to kill them, cut them down. There were several others, who had not run out of ammo yet, who tried to thin out the ranks of zombies so that the fighters would not be overwhelmed. Scott ran to the front line, the boom of his .45 louder than the other firearms. He took down five zombies, then reloaded. He was about to open fire again when he saw his first crawler. Out of the sea of infected came a strange looking creature. Its arms were about the same size as the longarms, but the difference was that instead of legs, it had _another _set of arms, giving it a spider like look. It moved with incredible speed, racing towards a survivor, who screamed and attempted to run, but the crawler grabbed his shoulders and legs, and bit into him, its entire head inside of the poor bastards chest. It was immediately cut down with gunfire.

"Jesus..." Scott whispered, and re-focused on the task at hand. The normal infected had all but been killed off, leaving the only the stronger zombies. Scott opened fire on one covered in blood, its chest exploded as he pounded three rounds into its chest. But more took their place. Scott shot many more, until he ran out of .45 ammo. He pulled out his knife, his last line of defense.

Getting close to the purples was hard, they were faster, stronger, and their attacks were more calculated. Scott found that stabbing them in the neck was most effective, it usually downed them in one hit. His knife grew slippery, and piles of stinking bodies covered the ground. After he finished off a extremely fat red, Scott again heard the sound of a crawler. He turned too quickly to the sound, and fell over a rotting body. His knife flew out of his hand, and he hit his head on the ground, hard. Stunned, Scott saw out of the corner of his eye a crawler headed right towards him.

He rolled to the side, and on to his feet. Scott screamed as the crawler leapt up on him, its enormous weight pushing him to the ground. He pushed against its weight with all his might, but the things snapping head inched closer to his exposed chest each second.

**Chapter 10: The Monstrosities**

Scott closed his eyes, sure that he was about to die. Suddenly, blood spattered his face and the beast on top of him let out a choked scream, and fell to the side, dead. Scott got up, wiping his eyes, which, luckily, had been closed. He looked around for his savior, and saw Slayer, who smiled at him, gave a salute, and began firing upon the horde. Many of the survivors had died, and many more were wounded. The fight was going badly. But then something caught Scott's attention that gave him hope. Out of the outpost came seven men, dressed fully in sturdy looking armor, with huge miniguns spinning. They advanced on the infected, and opened fire. A storm of lead utterly destroyed the infected zombies ranks, the sheer number of bullets pushing the wall of bodies back. Nothing could stand up against the team, and soon the only sound was that of the soft whimpering of the wounded, occasionally broken by a gunshot. Scott ran up to Slayer, and asked him who they were.

"The exterminators." Slayer answered, "They are an elite group of survivors who are armed to the teeth with the best the outpost has to offer. We were lucky to have them."

"Thanks for saving me back there." Scott said.

"No problem. What was that thing on you?" Slayer asked "It looked like a fucked up longarm"

"They call them crawlers." Scott replied.

"All survivors, report to the meeting hall immediately." Came a voice over the loudspeaker.

"That's us." Slayer said. "Lets go." And began walking towards the meeting hall. Scott followed in silence.

When they reached the meeting hall, the same man that was up before the outpost attack, was shouting. The crowd around him was screaming, and the wounded were being rushed to the hospital. Finally, someone fired a shotgun in the air and yelled "Silence!"

It was dead quiet. The man on top of the podium, Scott heard that his name was Neil, said,

"By now you all know about the new type of zombie. They are extremely hard to kill. All survivors not properly equipped should not attempt to kill one. There have been many sightings of new zombies. Anyone who brings proof that they have killed a new type of the mutation, and information about their whereabouts, and also the best way to dispatch them, will receive a reward of fifty thousand dollars. I highly advise that you work in groups, in an attempt to minimize losses. Bring a picture, or a body for proof. That will be all."

This was followed by a storm of questions, and excited conversations. Fifty thousand dollars for killing a zombie was not bad. People began suiting up immediately. Scott turned to Slayer and asked if he wanted to go. Slayer answered that they should wait until morning. It was slowly getting darker outside, so Scott walked out of the main gate, to the bodies of fallen survivors. Others had gotten the same idea, and were quickly stripping the dead of anything useful. It sickened Scott to the stomach, but he needed ammo. After a half a hour, he found a good amount of rifle ammo, and a about five clips of .45 ammo. He returned to the outpost, and went to find Bleach. He was right where he had left him, in a marketplace stall. Scott slapped him a few times to wake him up, and helped him to the hospital. It was nearly full, each wounded person needed to be strip-searched for bites. Bleach was treated; he had luckily avoided serious harm.

Scott returned to the hotel, and paid another thirty bucks. After he paid, he realized that he was running low on money. This made the fifty thousand dollar reward seem even more appealing. Falling asleep, Scott was haunted by nightmares of being trapped in a car, the claws of zombies tearing him limb from limb. He awoke several times in cold sweat, only to realize that he was safe. After a few more episodes of this, Scott gave up on sleeping, and wet outside. The cool night air felt good against his body, which felt sticky from sweat and gore.

"Can't sleep?" A voice behind him said.

Scott spun around and saw that it was Josue.

"Took me a long time to get used to it." Josue said slowly. "The nightmares never really leave, they only fade."

They sat in silence for a while. Finally, uncomfortable, Scott asked.

"Are you going to hunt the new zombies?"

"No." Josue answered. "No point in getting myself killed over money. I guarantee you, half the guys that go out there, won't come back."

"I need the money." Scott said. "And it feels like I should be dead already, so it won't rally matter if I don't come back right?" He laughed dryly. "No point in living if you aren't doing anything."

"No point in living if your dead." Josue said, and got up. "Take care of yourself." He said, and left.

Scott sat alone until the sun came up, and then stretched, and went out to find Slayer. After looking for a bit, he spotted him standing next to Bleach. Slayer saw him, and nodded. Scott noticed that Bleach had some new guns. It was a sleek black rifle, with a large scope attached to it.

"Well, we about ready to go?" Scott asked.

"Just about." Slayer answered, and with a bit of joking anger, said "Bleach still needs to adjust his scope."

"Hold on." Bleach answered. "No point in having a scope if you can't shoot a house with it."

Bleach finished, and the group of three set out, determined to bring at least one sample back for the fifty grand. They walked out the gate, and into the inner city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 11: The Screamer**

It was still morning when the first of the zombies attacked. It was a small group, only a few purples, but it was reminder enough for the group to keep their guard up. No much talking was done, other than to watch out and stuff like that. Wanting to break the silence, Scott asked,

"Slayer and Bleach aren't regular names, why do you go by nicknames?"

"New world, new names" Bleach answered. "The nicknames come from something we did."

"Yeah, I'm Slayer because I secured the rooftops defense three times in a row by myself." Slayer said.

"They call me Bleach because I used it and a bunch of other chemicals to gas out a bunch of raiders who were holed up in a building." Bleach said with a grin. "If you do something noteworthy, we just might give you a nickname"

Scott thought this over for a while, and decided he would try not to do anything stupid. He did not want a nickname like "Face plant." They continued to walk in silence, each pondering what they might be up against. Visions of the crawler's head snapping at his chest made Scott inadvertently begin to sweat. What if crawlers were the easy ones, what if behemoths ran away from some other sick mutation of the N-4. The fifty thousand dollars was seemingly less and less appealing, as something more dangerous than zombies took hold: fear. The urge to run back to the relative safety of the outpost was almost overwhelming, but the presence of Slayer and Bleach made Scott hopeful. He squared his shoulders and thought, "Whatever is out there, we could take it."

Scott almost wished that he had not though of this, because a piercing scream echoed down the deserted street. It rose in pitch, until it became unbearable. Then it raised more. And more. Scott fell to his knees, howling, and covering his ears. But the sound kept getting louder still. It felt like his brain was vibrating. His teeth rattled, and Scott tasted metal in his mouth. Black spots flashed across his vision until there was a sharp crack, and the sound died away into a gurgling sigh, followed by a wet smack against the pavement. Scott got up slowly, feeling dizzy. He saw Slayer doing likewise. Bleach was missing.

"What in God's name was that?" Scott asked, but it sounded like he was underwater. Scott saw Slayer trying to talk to him, but he could understand nothing. Scott shook his head, letting Slayer know that he could not hear him. They sat there for a while, until the ringing in their ears went down. Slayer then spoke.

"I think we found one, but where is Bleach?" He asked.

"No idea." Scott said. "But at least the thing is gone."

As if on cue, Bleach walked out of a nearby building, dragging an extremely fat zombie behind him. He walked over to Slayer and Scott, and smiled. He popped earplugs out of his ears, and then put them in his pack.

"You always carry earplugs with you?" Slayer asked.

"What was that? I can't hear you." Bleach joked. "Come look at this though. I think I scored us fifty grand."

They walked over to the body, and immediately recoiled.

"Its Ugly!" Scott said, covering his face.

"Hey, now," Bleach said. "Don't insult my new girlfriend!"

They all laughed, but even by zombie standards, this specimen was extremely bad. She had not been a beauty in her past life, but now anything would have looked better. Her face, particularly her mouth, was totally ruined. It looked like someone took a sledgehammer and pounded her mouth down to the middle of her chest, and widened it accordingly. Her teeth were an orthodontist's nightmare, crooked and broken in so many places you could not count. What was really disturbing, though, was that _another_ set of teeth were growing, at about the base of her throat.

"Goddamn." Slayer said. "She could bite me in half!"

"Prop her up, I want a picture!" Bleach said, and the pushed her up against a nearby car. Bleach handed Scott a digital camera, and then walked over to the zombie, lifting her head up like a hunter who just killed a deer. Scoot was about to take a picture, when he saw movement in the car. Scott whipped out his pistol, and fired. The bullet barely missed Bleach's head, and went through the window. It hit the zombie square in the forehead. Brains flew everywhere. It slumped out the shattered window, almost touching Bleach, who looked at Scott, smoking pistol in hand.

"Well" he laughed, "I guess his parking permit ran out."

"Hurry and take the picture already." Slayer said. "I want another fifty grand with this one."

"Me too." Replied Scott, and he snapped the picture.

Nothing could dampen their moods. They had just got fifty grand. But like everything these days, you never take anything for granted. The scream had alerted more dangerous beings, along with all zombies in earshot.

**Chapter 12: Hide and Seek**

They heard the horde before they saw it. It was massive. It sounded like a football stadium full of drunken college students screaming at the officials for an outrageously bad call. In other words, loud. The group scrambled into a convenience store, and began barricading the doors and windows. They could not get the main double doors barricaded in time though, the angry mob crashed in. They retreated into the storage room in back, firing at the oncoming horde. They were pushed farther back, until there was no room to maneuver. Slayer whipped out his machinegun, which Scott now recognized as a K50-M, and began firing in sweeping motions. The infected were pushed back by the force and power of each bullet. Many were simply ripped in half. Bleach led them to a side exit, which was used for employees only. They burst out into an alleyway, slamming the door behind them.

The infected crashed against it and pounded with all their might, but the door held. Slayer moved boxes up against it help it, and then ran. Ran till they were gasping for breath and nearly dying from exhaustion. They stopped to rest in an old supermarket, looking for water as they went. It had pretty much been cleaned out, buy they found a few stale candy bars and bottled water in the back.

"Way too close!" Scott sighed.

"Wish I still had my mithrall." Bleach replied.

"Wish this candy bar tasted like it used to." Slayer grumbled. "Why does it seem like every time something good happens, something bad happens?"

"You spoke too soon." Said Scott, and aimed his rifle towards the entrance.

Standing there was another zombie, allmost blocking the entire doorway. Its massive torso and biceps made a longarm look like a teddy bear, its skin as black as night. It stood there, sniffing, as if confused. Bleach cocked his rifle, an audible click sounding. The creature whipped around so it faced their way, and Scott saw why it was sniffing. It didn't have eyes. In their place were mouths, hungry and moaning. Where is normal mouth used to be was a gaping black maw that seemed to stretch into infinity.

Time seemed to slaw down as it charged, Slayer, Bleach, and Scott all dove in different directions. The monster kept charging straight, and ran into the back wall. Bleach opened fire, and it charged again, huge arms trying to grab him. He narrowly missed, Bleach spun out of the way at the last second. It again kept running, and again smashed into another wall. It partially collapsed on him, and it struggled to free itself.

"It doesn't have eyes." Slayer thought. And yelled this to Scott and Bleach, who immediately stopped shooting. The monster pulled itself free of the rubble. It began sniffing and listening, any sound made sent it flying in that direction. What was worse was that no bullet that was fired seemed to hurt it. Its hide was nearly impenetrable. Slayer thought hard, and an idea came to him.

"Keep it busy!" He yelled, and sprinted towards the outside of the store. Bleach and Scott pounded it with relentless bullets, but nothing seemed to slow it down. Slayer quickly found what he was looking for, a bunch of propane tanks stored outside. He shot the lock off, and grabbed one. If this were going to work, they would need precise timing. There would be no second chance. He ran back inside, carrying the heavy tank with him, and beat it against the wall.

"Dinnertime!" He yelled, and jumped out of the way. The beast crashed into the wall where he was, only moments ago, and recoiled. Slayer rolled the tank to its feet, and shot it. The resulting explosion was enormous. The immense fireball consumed the creature, and Slayer was thrown back by the shockwave. He landed hard, but luckily, nothing felt broken. Bleach and Scott ran up to him, and helped him to his feet.

"That was totally awesome!" Shouted Scott.

"Agreed!" Bleach said.

"Not awesome enough." Slayer said, and pointed.

The thing was getting up. It rose to its feet slowly, then let loose a roar that shook the building. It smashed it huge arms against the ground, and ripped a section of the wall loose. It roared again, and then threw it at them. The wall hit a few meters to their left, but it sent flying debris everywhere.

"Run!" Scott yelled, and nobody needed to be told twice. An explosion that could have blown up a house, but the thing had survived. No only that, it just seemed really, really pissed off now.

**Chapter 13: Fight or Flight**

It turns out running from the huge zombie wasn't a good idea. When they first tried, they found that this was the way the freak hunted. You would run, it would scoop you up, and lights out. This almost happened to Slayer. He ran straight towards the exit, bent on escape. The thing scooped him up, and raised him towards its maw. Then, by blind luck, Slayer wrenched himself around, and the beast's three mouths bit into his pack. Some teeth must have hit some bullets, because it sounded like four machineguns firing at once. The monster dropped slayer to the ground, and clutched its face in agony. It roared and howled, running into walls and swinging its arms violently. Slayer hauled ass towards the others, streams of curses flying out of his mouth.

"Shut up!" hissed Bleach.

"You shut up," Retorted Slayer, making sure he was still in one piece, then fell silent.

"At least you did some damage..." Scott whispered, as heavy drops of blood spattered against the floor. The zombie was bleeding, but it was still insignificant compared to its enormous size.

"Shit, look, it's healing!" Slayer said.

It was. Even from a slight distance away, they could see the wounds scab over, and eventually disappear.

"What now?" Scott asked, a bit of worry on his face.

"Don't know," Whispered Bleach. "Its so tough, a .50 cal sniper can't puncture its skin, and its only weak points are in its mouth."

"Not to mention it can take a tank blast standing." Slayer said "and it regenerates itself so fast you'd need an army to kill it."

"Wait... Regenerate..." Scott muttered to himself, the looked intently at Bleach. "Your a doctor right? So you'll have doctor stuff."

"What? Yeah, I guess." Bleach said. "Why?"

"Dump them all out here." Said Scott, and Bleach did.

"I don't know what your plan is, but our friend is calming down." Slayer said with alarm.

The monster had apparently gotten over being shot in the mouth, and was beginning to sniff again, searching for them. Scott found what he was looking for and grabbed it.

"Whoa! What are you doing? Cried Bleach "that stuff is expensive!"

"Not to worry, if I die, you can have all my stuff." Scott said, a reckless grin on his face, and stepped out into the open.

"Come on you piece of shit!" He screamed. The beast did as he had done before, but this time, Scott stood his ground. The monster grabbed him, and slowly brought him to his mouth. Scott popped the tops off of the vials, and rammed all six needles of Nitronian 2 into its upper mouths, three in each. The result was instant. The zombie wavered, and fell to the ground, stone dead.

Bleach and Slayer ran over to him, guns raised. They checked out to make sure it was dead, then turned to Scott.

"Would you mind explaining to me what the hell just happened!" Slayer yelled. "You killed it by injecting Nerotinian-2 in it?"

"I think Bleach could do a better job telling you the mechanics of it." Scott replied.

"Yeah..." Bleach said "What you did was incredibly stupid, but it worked."

"What worked?" Slayer roared "Give me answers! Nerotonian is supposed to heal, not kill!"

"Only in small doses." Bleach replied "What Scott did is known as an "overdose." Its usually caused when people don't know how to use it inject too much, and the healing power is turned around. Instead of healing, the Nerotonian does its gob too well, killing off all cells, causing voiding in the nearby organs, in this case, the brain."

"So you turned his brains to mush?" Slayer asked Scott "Nicely done"

"No problem." Scott said. "But you gave me the idea."

"You ladies want a picture or not?" Bleach called, who was setting up his camera.

The group sat next to the zombie, giving the thumbs up sign, and the picture clicked. They took several other pictures of the zombie's arms, legs, and all other parts. They finished by dousing the body in propane, and lighting it up, all of them giving it a salute. They didn't want anyone else stealing their prize. As they walked back to the outpost, they all cheered, saying that they were going to raise hell in the bars when they got back.

"Man, your a completely different guy since we found you." Bleach said, smiling.

"Yeah, you were afraid to shoot a shotgun." Slayer laughed.

"That I was, but who would of thought I could kill something like that." Scott said grinning.

"Nobody, man, you were like a robot back there!" Bleach replied. "You were all like "I'm programmed to destroy you! Die Now!"

"Not a robot, a killbot." Slayer mused.

"Yeah." Bleach nodded to Slayer.

"Well, we'd better get back to the outpost Killbot, I think I hear them calling our name."

Bleach, Slayer, and Killbot ran towards the outpost. They could already see one-hundred grand, and boy, did it look good.

**Chapter 14: The Money Calls**

Bleach, Killbot, and Slayer reached the outpost. There were numerous people lining the inner gate, each jumping up and calling out different names when they caught sight of them. And all of them sank to the floor crying when they saw that it was not the one that they had hoped to see.

"More people must have not come back than I thought." Slayer said quietly.

"Yeah." Bleach agreed, "We hardly made it back in one piece."

They walked in silence for a while, until Killbot broke the silence.

"Well, lets not act all sorry, lets get some cash!" He yelled.

Two cheers followed this, and they headed for the meeting hall. As they approached, they saw that a section had been set up for the zombie identification. As they approached, a bearded man behind the counter faced him, black eyes glittering in the shadow.

"If you don't have a new infected blood sample, picture, or body, get lost. I've had over a hundred of you people screaming that you've all got a new zombie for me. None of you ever bring any proof. Bah, I swear to you, if you waste any of my time, I'm going to put the hurt on you like you've never felt before."

"Long day?" Killbot asked smiling. "We've got pictures for you."  
>"Better not be tampered with, or you'll get it!" he warned.<p>

"No tampering, just some fresh new zombie scum to deal with." Bleach said, tossing the man the camera.

The man, who identified himself as John, looked at the pictures. His eyes widened, and he looked at them.

"Well, looks like you're not like the rest of the slugs that try to cheat us out of our money. Nicely done!" He grinned, and connected the camera to a printing device. It hummed, and two of the clearest pictures came out. John walked over to the billboard that stood next to the office, and put them up. He pinned the pictures of the screamer and the "stalker" as Slayer had called it, up next to several other photos. He strode back behind the counter, and whispered something in a man's ear. The man walked into the darkness. The were several clicking sounds, and finally the noise of a door being pulled open. There was a slam, and the man returned, carrying two bags of bulging cash. He handed them to John, who turned to the small group.

"One for the ugly one." He dropped the first bag. "And another for the big one." He dropped the other. "Have a nice day."

Grabbing the bags, Bleach tossed one to Killbot, and they walked over to the billboard. Posted were a few other zombies, and ways to kill them. The one that stuck out the most were one with two heads it said below "you have to shoot both." Another one had a huge claw instead of an arm, and below it said. "Stay away from the claw, or it'll gut you like Tim." Killbot didn't know who Tim was, but he guessed that what happened to him was not good. Several other pictures lined up, each with tips on how to kill the certain zombies. None were as impressive as the Stalker though, the only one that came close was one labeled "shark" It had a huge fin sticking out of its back, like the dorsal fin of a shark, and a mouth to match one. Under it said: "Haven't figured out how to kill it yet."

"Come on Killbot!" Bleach shouted, already walking towards a bar, Slayer leading him. Not knowing where else to spend first, he ran to catch up. Slayer laid them to a building labeled: "The Hunters Hovel." It had a huge skull looming over the sign, and pictures of guns painted all over the sides of it.

"Looks like a family place." Killbot said sarcastically.

"Hey, you find a better place that sells guns and alcohol, lead the way." Slayer shot back.

Killbot knew of no such place, so he remained silent as they walked in. The inside wasn't much better than the outside, swords, bullet casings, and the like adorned the walls, and cigarette smoke was thick in the air. Slayer walked up to the bartender, and said:

"Wolf, me and my friends are thirsty. Why don't you crack open that old keg you've been saving for something special."

The man called Wolf turned, and Killbot saw how he got his name. His eyes were intense, like a madman, and his expression sharp, like he'd rather shoot first and ask questions later.

"What's the occasion Slayer? You found a quarter and are going to start paying off your tab?" Wolf laughed.

Slayer laughed also. "We'll get to that. We just scored a hundred grand and we're might thirsty."

"Well then, that is a reason to celebrate. Its payday!" Chuckled wolf, as he pulled out a case of crown royal. He then popped off the lid, and poured it into three dirty shot glasses. Slayer, Bleach, and Killbot each took one, and raising them, said:

"To stalker and screamer, who made this day possible!" and downed them. It was going to be a good night.

**Chapter 15: New Toys**

Killbot felt the alcohol burn down his throat. He had not been a heavy drinker before the outbreak, and this had been his first drink since then. He nearly sputtered, but contained it. Bleach and Slayer seemed immune to this; they were already pouring themselves another glass. Killbot set his down, and turned to Wolf.

"How much per shot?" He asked.

"Your friend just bought the whole bottle, which is gonna cost him about five hundred bucks. Plus he has to pay off his tab, which is another eight hundred." Wolf said.

Scott whistled. "He must of been a customer for a while."

"You bet." Wolf replied. "So, what can I do for you? Need guns? Ammo? A girl?" He chuckled at the last one.

"What have you got?" Killbot asked.

"Well, it seems that you have some money, so I can offer you some of my more specialty stock." Come with me." Wolf said, and led him back behind the counter.

Wolf led Killbot to a back storage room, with metal grates over the windows. He began rummaging through some boxes.

"So, what you into?" he asked. "Need a new rifle? How about a pistol?"

"What could I get for fifty grand?" Killbot asked.

"Now that you mention it, I do have new item that's on special." He grinned, and walked over to a heavy suitcase. Opening it, he pulled out a black machinegun, its barrel gleamed in the half-light.

"XM8 Prototype." Wolf said. "with the optional shock absorber and muzzle silencer."

"How much?" Killbot asked, remembering Slayer's gun, and how it cut through the toughest of zombies.

"Forty grand. Cash." Wolf said smiling.

"Forty grand is a hell of a lot for one gun." Killbot said.

"Oh, but this baby is worth every penny." Wolf said. "Its got the punch of an M-16 with a clip life that nobody can touch."

"Fine." Killbot said. "Deal." And handed over the cash.

"Now if you don't mind, I'm going to ask you to leave." Wolf said, "Unless you want to buy something else."

Killbot scanned the room, when a glittering caught his eye. He walked over and pulled out heavy looking body armor. It was white, with the letters LR8 written on the breastplate.

"How much for this?" He asked.

"Its for eighteen thousand." Wolf said.

"I'll trade it for ten and my rifle." Killbot replied.

"Deal, but good luck finding someone who can repair it. These things were all but abandoned because it takes an expert to repair them, and its durability goes down a little every time it breaks, until its worthless. Your best bet will be to find A reactive SLX, they're basically the same thing, but easier to repair. Its more expensive though... "

Killbot thought this over. He remembered the new zombies, and how they were ten times a dangerous as the old ones. He could not wait for better armor. He made the exchange, and strapped it on, and finally slung his new gun over his shoulder. He walked back out into the bar, feeling a lot better than he had before.

**Chapter 16: Bar Fight**

Killbot walked back into the bar, to see Slayer and Bleach at a gambling table. A man in a trench coat was spinning cards quickly, eyes on Slayer, who was sitting at a bench next to him. The man stopped, and Slayer picked a card. It was a jack.

"Dammit!" He roared.

"Again?" asked the man.

"Again!" Shouted Slayer, and slammed a thousand dollars on the table.

The man smiled and took the cash. He laid three cards on the table face up. Two black jacks, and a red queen. He then flipped them over, and began shuffling them quickly. His hands moved faster and faster, becoming a blur. He suddenly stopped, and said.

"Pick one."

Slayer did, and it was a jack. Killbot thought that Slayer was going to explode into a drunken rage; he was so mad that he tossed five thousand dollars on the table. The Man just smiled.

"He's pretty good a what he does." Said a voice behind Killbot.

Killbot spun around to see Elijah Wilson.

"I don't know how he does it, but he manages to cheat drunks out of their money every time."

Killbot said nothing, and turned to watch. The gamble-master was moving the cards rapidly, and Scott saw something he had not seen before. He had been looking at the cards that were moving, not the man's hands. His hands moved the cards so fast you could barely see them, but Killbot watched his left hand, not the cards. He saw the dealer lift up a card, and another card was in his hand. He flicked the first card into his sleeve, and laid down the second one. It was a one in a million chance, but Killbot saw his trick. The dealer was cheating. His hands stopped. Slayer picked a card. Jack.

As the dealer was about to reach for the other two cards, Killbot slammed his knife down, mere millimeters from the dealer's hands. He then flipped over the remaining two cards. Two jacks.

"Game Over." Killbot said. And grabbed the man by the collar. Three men dressed in black stepped forward from the crowd. Each held a short-barreled revolver.

"I'll give you back double what you paid." Whispered the dealer, licking his lips. "Just don't make a scene."

"Or?" Killbot asked through gritted teeth.

"You'll never make it out of here alive, but I don't want that, its bad for business."

"Oh, really?" Killbot answered, and looked over his shoulder. Slayer and Bleach were on their feet, waiting to see what happened.

"No Deal." Killbot said, and punched the Dealer across the face. The dealer went sprawling, and Killbot jumped out of the way. He was just in time. Chips flew out of the wall as bullets hit where he had been standing seconds before. Slayer and Bleach sprung into action also, although a bit slower, their reflexes lessened by the alcohol. Killbot rolled across the floor, and overturned a heavy looking table, and took cover behind it. He could feel the impact of the bullets hitting the table, it jerked a bit every time one hit. He unslung his new gun from his shoulder, and checked to make sure it was loaded. It was. The table was taking increased damage, the jolts were getting harder. He prayed that it would hold a bit longer. It did. Once his assailants had run out of ammo, leapt over the table. He flicked the switch on his gun to full auto, and squeezed the trigger. The result was a series of spits that tore into one of the enemies legs. The man cried out, and fell to the floor.

Killbot aimed for the second, and again pulled the trigger. The jerking of the gun was worse this time, for he was not in a proper firing stance. His accuracy decayed slightly, but most of the bullets hit the man in the chest. He flew backwards, and hit the back wall, and slumped to the ground. The third was a bit smarter, and jumped behind a booth, where he was in good cover.

To his amazement, though, the man he had shot in the chest got up, and dove into a now empty doorway. "He must be wearing some kind of body armor." Killbot thought. He yelled to Slayer,

"You and Bleach take that one, I got the one in the booth.!"

"Alright mister commander!" Saluted Beach, and he and Slayer pulled out their guns.

Killbot turned his attention back on his assailant. He had apparently had more ammo, and replaced his old clip with a fresh one. He popped his head over the booth, and squeezed off a shot. Killbot dropped to the ground, and log rolled sideways. Bullets zinged all around him, but none found their mark. Finally, on the sixth shot, Killbot got up and walked over to the man, who was desperately trying to reload his revolver. When he saw him advancing, he cried out, and in a last ditch effort, pulled out a combat knife and stabbed Killbot in the chest. Or tried to stab, at least. The knife hit Killbot's LR8 and shattered, cutting the man in the hand. Killbot swung his gun, hitting the man in the mouth with the butt of the weapon. He went own, and didn't get up.

Slayer and Bleach called out to him. Killbot responded that he was fine, but suddenly there were two sharp cracks, and icy pain blossomed in his lower back and head. The dealer stood behind him, pistol in hand.

Slayer and Bleach cried out, and took cover. The dealer stood over a moaning Killbot, chuckling softly.

"You should have listened to me." He gloated softly. He cocked the hammer back on his revolver, aiming for Killbot's head. Before he could fire though, his entire left side exploded, red mist of blood flying everywhere. The dealer cried out, and sunk to the floor. Wolf walked forward, and jacked a shell out of his combat shotgun.

"What can I say?" He asked. "I take care of my valued customers."

**Chapter 17: The New Plan**

Bleach and Slayer rushed to Killbot's side. He was curled in a tight ball, and was completely covered in blood, but most of it had come from the Dealer when he had been shot. Bleach immediately checked Killbot's head wound. The bullet had narrowly missed the back of his skull, and had skimmed the left side, tearing some flesh off, but not penetrating bone.

"Get me some bandages!" Bleach commanded.

"Sure thing." Slayer responded, and opened Bleach's medical kit. He fumbled with the bandages a bit, the unrolled them and pressed them to Killbot's head. The bleeding stopped as most of the blood was soaked into the bandage.

"Hold him down!" Bleach said, struggling with Killbot.  
>"My stomach! Oh God! Its on fire!" He moaned, trying to cover the wound with his hands.<p>

Killbot had never felt a pain this great. It was like someone had ripped him open and pressed a hot iron inside him. It was so complete that it nearly drove him mad. He moaned and cried, praying for release, but it never came.

Slayer pulled Killbot's arms up and over his head, while Bleach ripped of his armor. Blood covered the inside of it, and Bleach went pale when he saw what was underneath. The armor had done more damage than help. The bullet had penetrated the unprotected side and would have gone straight through if the back plate were not there. The bullet had ricocheted off of it, and went through Killbot's stomach again, where it had bounced off the gut plate, and back again. His stomach resembled Swiss cheese.

"Holy shit..." murmured Slayer. "That one round did all that?"

"Shut up and get me some morphine!" Roared Bleach, who immediately pressed bandages on the wounds.

While Slayer, still half drunk, searched for some morphine, Elijah walked over to Bleach.

"Here." He said, and gave him a vial of blue liquid. Bleach immediately Sucked it into a vial, and injected it into Killbot. Then, all who were still around watched the Nerotonian do its magic. The blue flowed to where there was the most damage, when it touched the wounds, new skin warped over it, healing almost immediately.

"Well, he's not going to die," Beach said "But that's going to slow him down for a couple of weeks. The scar tissue that will form will hamper his movement."

"I got the morphine!" yelled Slayer in triumph.

"Oh shut up you stupid drunk, he's already healed." Bleach returned

"Oh shut me up will you? Who shot that guy in the face while drunk? Huh? Who saved your sorry ass? Huh?" Slayer muttered.

Killbot got up, dizzy from the loss of blood. "I think I'm goanna need some of that stuff to steady me." He said

Wolf poured him a drink, and Killbot drank it down. He stopped shaking.

"Sorry about the mess." Slayer said. "Feel free to take whatever these guys have on them."

"How else would I get my amazingly low priced stock?" Wolf said, smiling.

He walked over to one of the nearest of the downed men, and pulled off his jacket. Underneath was gleaming body armor, almost shining black.

"These guys weren't messing around." Wolf said, eyes widened. "These are state of the art Reactive XT800 armors. They have been known to stop a desert eagle bullet, point blank."

"Goddamn... Why did I open my mouth?" Slayer said. He walked over to the dealer's overturned gambling stand. Inside was a .357 mag revolver, identical to the one's that his henchmen used. Also inside was a rather large security box; inside was about twelve thousand dollars.

"Well, all is not lost." Beach said. "Come on Killbot, we'll take you to the hospital."

"Yeah, I think I need to sit down." Killbot stammered.

They walked outside, into the black night. There was no moon, so the only light was from Bleach's flashlight. Slayer helped support Killbot as they walked on. It took them twice the normal time to reach the Hospital, and even longer to get him in. But something interesting happened while they were checking in. A man, dressed in a strange purple armor, walked in. He pulled out piece of paper, and read aloud:

"Due to the growing threat of the new mutations of the infected, ad the growing number of casualties, a large expedition force will be sent into the eastern half of the city, where there, they will continue to collect new samples. Anyone who is skilled in the art of killing, engineering, or in the medical field, and are strong enough to come, are strongly encouraged to. There will be a meeting tomorrow morning in the meeting hall at sunrise. That will be all." And he left.

"I'm going." Slayer said "What about you Bleach?"

"I'm in." He responded "Sorry Killbot, but you have to rest. Even the Nerotonian won't have healed you enough for something like this."  
>"Don't worry about me. All I want to do is sleep." Killbot answered.<p>

Killbot walked over to an open bed, and closed his eyes. There still was a dull throb in his gut, but it was bearable. His last though before drifting off was: "Why now?"

**Chapter 18: Project Sabertooth**

As Killbot fell asleep, Bleach and Slayer walked out of the hospital together. Once they were clear, Bleach said abruptly:

"We almost lost him."

"I know. Did you see his stomach?" Slayer answered.

"Its not the stomach wound that would have killed him." Bleach answered, "Oh, he would have bled dry, but it would have taken much longer. The wound he suffered on the head was much worse than I thought."

"How so? He was complaining about his stomach." Slayer returned.

"When I first saw his head wound, I thought that he was fine. But upon closer inspection after he had healed, I found that the tissue around it was badly damaged. I checked around, and found the bullet casing of the first shot that the dealer had fired. The casing proved my suspicions to be right. The bullet had been laced with mercury."

"Isn't that the metal they used to put in thermometers?" Slayer asked.

"Yes." Beach answered, "It is also extremely toxic. If any of the bullet had penetrated his skull, lights out."

Slayer whistled "That lucky SOB. I've counted, and that's five times he should be dead."  
>"Lucky man indeed." murmured Bleach. "Goodnight Slayer."<p>

"See you at the meeting in the morning." Slayer answered, and they departed.

Killbot awoke the next afternoon. On his first attempt to get up, he found himself completely unable to bend his stomach. But it beat being dead, so he was still happy. It took him a while to get it moving again, and when he did, he immediately went to a mirror.

"Oh God..." He groaned. There was a huge scar on the side of his head. It started small, but got steadily larger as it cut towards his temple. There, it abruptly stopped, nearly an inch in diameter. He studied it for a while, and then laughed aloud.

"Well, if I hadn't gotten my nickname already, I bet they would have called me Scarface."

He walked out of the hospital, and paid for his bed. Slayer had left him a small stack of cash, with a note saying: "You owe me two grand and Bleach twelve grand, so get to work!" He was not charged a doctor's fee because all they did was check to see if he was alive. Stepping out into the sunny afternoon, Killbot wanted to run around screaming. He had seen his stomach the night before, and was sure that he was a goner. But he was alive, and he was not going to waste another moment of it.

Killbot remembered the meeting, so he headed over to the meeting hall. It was deserted.

"They left a few hours ago." A voice said behind him. Killbot turned, and saw Elijah standing there.

"It was an impressive sight. A hundred and fifty men, armed to the teeth, going out to kill zombies. I would have gone with them, but I didn't have the firepower."

"The firepower?" Killbot questioned

"Yeah, they all had huge machineguns, shotguns, and I even say a grenade launcher here and there." Elijah answered.

Killbot pondered this for a moment, and then asked: "How come you've been following me around? I saw you at the bar last night."

"Well, the bar incident was pure chance," Elijah answered "but I was just checking up on you today. You took a hard hit last night."

"Yeah..." Killbot said, remembering.

"There is a group of men set up to communicate with Sabertooth. Would you like to join?" Asked Elijah

"Sabertooth?" said Killbot, confused.

"Its what they call the group that went out." Elijah said "The sign up sheet is right over there." He pointed.

Killbot walked over to a sheet labeled "Communications" And signed his name. It disturbed him that he wrote "Killbot" instead of "Scott" He shook his head. He had to get used to this. Scott belonged to the old world. Killbot belonged in the new. His position was at radioman, and he was set to begin his shift in a couple of hours. Until then, he would just have to wait to find out what project Sabertooth was all about.

**Chapter 19: The Competition**

Killbot stood around for a while, uncertain of what to do next. He saw Elijah walking up to him again, this time looking excited.

"There is a competition going on in the yard, do you wanna come?" Elijah asked

"Sure, I've got nothing better to do." Killbot answered, grateful for some way to take his mind off of the memories of last night.

This seemed to cheer up Elijah quite a bit, and he talked happily on their way there. Once they reached the yard they saw what was happening. A booth was set up, stating the different prices of different bullets, and also stating numbers next to the various zombies that infested Fairview. Behind it, a large area was cleared, and a pit dug into the earth. It was much like a swimming pool, twelve feet deep, with about thirty feet both ways across. Chain link fence surrounded it, with another set spanning around the entire field. Choruses of moans sounded in the background, where several transport cases, originally made for bears, shook as rotted hands beat from inside. People were crowded around the fence, all of them trying to get a good look.

"What are we doing here?" Asked Killbot wryly.

"Simple." The man explained "You buy a zombie and ammo from here, and you fight it in the pit."

"We have to pay to fight a zombie?" Questioned Elijah, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, most of your winnings come from bets made." Said the man. "How dangerous the zombie is, and how powerful your weapon is all influence the bets. You are allowed one shot with a shotgun, rifle, or pistol, and three with a machinegun. If you shoot any more, your winnings will fall. So if I were you, I'd bring a melee weapon. No grenades are allowed."

Killbot thought this over for a while, and decided that he did owe Slayer and Bleach some money. "Besides," he thought, "how bad could it be?"

"I'll buy one .45 caliber pistol bullet." He said. "And I'll fight a mutant."

"Oh! A risk taker! That'll be eight hundred and ten dollars." Said the man, and he handed over a bullet. Killbot handed him the cash, and turned to get in line.

"Wait! You can't take your armor in there!" said the man at the table.

"Now you tell me." Killbot grumbled, but, not wanting to waste the money, he handed over the armor.

Elijah whispered that he would bet on him, and then, quickly wishing him good luck, he walked over to the betting circle. Killbot walked into line, next to a few other contestants. They glanced at him, and most of them turned back. One though, walked over to him, and asked:

"What are you fighting?"

"A mutant." Killbot replied.

"A mutant huh?" said the boy, who looked under eighteen. "I saw one of them tear a guy apart earlier today."

"Must've not known how to fight." Killbot answered, although this startled him a bit.

"He did have a twelve gauge shotgun, and he shot it five times..." The boy trailed off, and walked back to the others.

"Five times!" Thought Killbot in horror. "Shit!"

For the next few minutes, Killbot planned and thought over his strategy. He remembered how he had taken down the irradiated green zombie with his pistol, and planned on doing the same thing. Finally, one of the workers told him that he was up next. Killbot walked to the gate, and they sealed him in. The pit looked a lot smaller from the inside than from the top. A pang of fear hit him in the gut, as the door holding the zombie in was slowly opened. When it finally reached the top, a tall and muscular zombie walked out. Blood covered its head and body, and it sniffed the air experimentally. When the crowd cheered, it turned, and loosed a savage roar at them. Killbot swallowed, and advanced slowly.

The infected heard him, and it whipped around to face him. A threatening growl rose in its chest, and its lips curled into a snarl, revealing sharp rows of teeth. Killbot continued to advance, weaving in and out, left and right, trying to get a feel for the creature. It would not have that, though. It charged straight for him. Killbot waited till the last second, the dropped to one knee, driving his shoulder into its side, and simultaneously pulling up on its leg. If it was a person, it would have been send to the ground, but the great mutative powers of the N-4 had caused it to be much stronger. It twisted around and threw him off, and then rushed to tackle him.

Killbot know that he could not get too close to this brute; it was much too strong to wrestle with. He sprinted out of its way, and distanced himself from the mutant just a bit. He unsheathed his knife, known know as a kukri. He wished he would have brought his machete, but he needed speed to overcome this, not power. He slowly circled the beast, feinting to the right and left, attempting to get an opening. Frustrated, the infected charged again, this time, widening its arms so that he could not pull off the same move as before. Killbot backed up, and leapt to the right, slashing its arm on the way. Half of the infected's hand fell to the ground. The crowd cheered.

Killbot thought this would slow it slightly. He was wrong. Instead, it seemed to enrage it, and it doubled its efforts, rushing at Killbot with a ferocity matched by none. It made daring charges, seemingly not caring when it was stabbed it full in the back. It simply knew one thing: the need to destroy.

Killbot was beginning to tire. His gut ached from the previous night's wound, and already is was beginning to tighten up, restricting his movement and breathing. Wanting to end this, He upholstered his revolver, and jogged to the side of the ring. The infected was close on his heels, sensing that victory was near. At the last second, Killbot pushed against the wall, sending himself to the left. The more uncoordinated mutant, however, simply crashed into it, and nearly fell backwards. Killbot took aim, and fired his revolver into the creature's neck. A mist of blood spurted out from the other side, and the mutant sunk to the ground, a gurgling sigh rising in its now ruined throat.

Killbot raised his arms, and the crowd exploded into applause. It was suddenly cut off though, as gasps replaced them. The monster was getting to its feet. Killbot nearly screamed. It should be dead, but it wasn't. Its eyes flashed in the light, and it seemingly shook with fury. It advanced. Killbot knew that this was his last chance. He angrily swore, and charged. He raised this kukri over his head, both hands clutching the grip, and brought it down with a sickening crunch into the mutant's head. Blood flew onto his arms and chest, and the monster crumpled under the force of the blow. It fell to its knees, the slumped over and fell on its side, truly and utterly dead.

Killbot did not hear or comprehend anything that happened afterward, only the fact that the crowd pressed upon him, many hands swatting him on the back in congratulations. It was soon over, though. The next fight had begun. Only Elijah Wilson was left with him, and he handed Killbot a stack of cash.

"Your winnings." He said. "Nearly a thousand dollars over what you paid."

"I'm never going to do that again." Whispered Killbot, nearly shaking from exhaustion.

He picked up his stuff at the head table, and began walking slowly to the meeting hall. He was due for his shift. He was a thousand dollars richer than before, buy he resolved that he would rather starve than go into the pit again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 20: Problems**

Killbot, still shaking from his encounter in the pit, headed over to the control room. He showed the entry guard that he had signed up, and was led to a man wearing an outpost guard uniform, his many badges and medals showing that he was a high ranking officer.

"So, you want to be a radioman? Follow me." He said promptly, and began walking towards another room, not waiting for Killbot to catch up. As he walked into the radio room, another outpost guard handed him a headset with a blue tooth attached to it. The officer tossed this to Killbot, and signaled for him to put it on. He did.

Killbot listened attentively to everything the officer said, as he knew that he was expected to do everything perfectly, no second chances were given. Once his orienteering was finished, the officer left and shut the door behind him, leaving another outpost guard in the room. He heard the sound of locks clicking, as the door was sealed behind him.

Killbot scanned over his list of things to do, noting that he and the group were to maintain radio contact, and for them to check in every thirty minutes. There was also a large map of the city, hung on the wall to his left. It had pins sticking in it, stating where they should be at a certain point in time, and where the team was. He noted that they were due for a position check, so he flipped one of the switches on the short-wave radio to the "on" position, and then went through the standard procedure.

"This is home-one, requesting a position check and status update." He said.

"Home-one, this is Sabertooth Echo squadron, we are heading to waypoint seven, ETA at thirteen hundred hours." Said the voice on the radio.

Killbot sat there for a second, trying to sort out what the man had just said. He finally figured it out, and marked their position on the map. He asked them for a status report.

"So far, we have one casualty, and that was because of a misfire of a gun. He is in stable condition; he is just slowing us down a bit. No zombies have given us problems yet sir." Replied the voice.

Sir. That struck Killbot as odd. "Alright, you are dismissed, and good luck to you." He said.

"Over and out." Replied the man.

Killbot found out why not many people signed up to be radioman. In between position checks, you sat there, waiting for something to happen. It was the most mind numbing work he had ever experienced. But, like every job, you had to be on your toes. Just when Killbot felt like he could take it no longer, a red light began flashing on the control panel. It signaled that an emergency transmission was being made. He flung on his headset, and switched the radio on.

This is a recording of the transmissions made between fourteen-hundred hours, and fifteen-hundred hours, and is currently under review of the NHSD (Naysticias Holdout Security and Defense) Board.

"_This is home one, what is your status?"_

"_Oh my God! They're everywhere! We need backup!"_

" _Squadron Echo! What is your status and position?"_

"_Holy shit! They're crawling down the walls! *Thunderous machinegun fire is heard in the background* "We need backup! NOW!"_

"_Echo! What is your status?"_

"_We are in some store, I don't know where, half the squad is dead! They were torn apart! It wouldn't die!"  
>"What killed your squad?"<em>

"_Something big! It had, it was... *Loud bangs are heard, presumably made by a shotgun* ...and lots of little ones, hundreds of them, like giant spiders, they came out of it! It had a huge mouth and they came out of it! *cracks of a rifle are heard, followed by several screams, the noise in the background drops dramatically* _

"_Echo! Status report!"_

"_..."_

"_Echo! Report!"_

"_..."_

"_Echo..."_

"_...I'm *cough*... I'm the only one left... They... Echo is all, all of them dead!...I think one of them bit me. *cough**cough* God... Me head... Pounding!... I'm on fire! They aren't attacking, they are just watching me! Ohhhh! Ohhhhh! GOD! *the scream draws out until it is at an unbearably high pitch, then drops into a deep, savage roar. There is a burst of static, then nothing.*_

"_Echo...Echo...Report!...Echo! Report! Echo!..."_

_*transmission ends*_

**Chapter 21: Uproar in Home One**

The scene following the transmissions was one of complete chaos. Messengers running around, papers flying, and the noise of several radiomen attempting to hail the other squads of Sabertooth. In the midst of this, the officer that gave Killbot his orders stood, and shouted "QUIET!" There was a dead silence.

"These were the men in Echo Squad." He said, and pinned up the seventeen men that made up the platoon. "All of these men were heavily armed, and well trained. They must have hit something big, very big."

"What could stand up to them?" Asked another radioman. "Three of the men had heavy machineguns, and one of them had a USAS…"

Killbot stood up. "I don't think it was something big that killed them, but rather, something small. Listen to the recording. He said "Hundreds of tiny ones, coming out of a big one's mouth."

The room went dead silent. Nobody wanted to believe that a new species of zombie could overcome seventeen men in less than five minutes. Finally, the officer asked if any of the other squads still had radio contact. The reply was that three had responded, and that the fourth had been having problems with their CB.

"Tell them to find a secure building, and barricade themselves inside. None of them are to move until I give them the OK." Ordered the officer, and then turned to leave. Before he got the chance though, the radioman attempting to hail Bravo squad shouted:

"Bravo's been wiped out. All that's on the radio is moans."

It felt like a soft blanket was pressed on the control room. More pictures were put up, of the men and women who had made up Bravo squad. They were as heavily armed as Echo, except that two of them had been armed with grenade launchers. Killbot shuddered as he imagined something that could survive being hit by a grenade. Memories of the Stalker that he, Slayer and Bleach flooded his mind. They had only survived by chance, and the others would have been easily killed if they did not know how it was killed. There were forty people missing in action at the moment.

"What was Project Sabertooth even looking for?" Killbot wondered aloud.

"Each squad had a different mission." Answered a man behind Killbot. "Alpha squad was looking for information on the mutations, to use for a data book on how to fight them. Bravo Squad was searching for a rumored underground Secronom facility. Charlie Squad was ordered to create an outpost in the Eastern portion of the city, as a base for project Sabertooth. Delta squad was instructed for recon, to scout out and map the surrounding area, as much of the outskirts of Fairview is still unknown, and also to search for more survivors that are bound to be in the area. And Echo Squad was on supply runs, attempting to keep the other squads fully functional."

Killbot pondered this for a moment. Then he made up his mind. He was going in after them. Sabertooth was going to need all the help they could get. But He was going to do things differently. He had a plan, and it had to work, otherwise, those men that had been killed would have died for nothing.

**Chapter 22: Preparations**

Killbot walked out of the room, and back into the outpost. He could still hear the scream of the man on the radio. It had been one of fear, his last moments as a human, before turning into one of them. What really surprised him was the speed in which he had mutated into a zombie. The earliest reports had stated that it had taken nearly a day for the first wave of those infected to turn. This man had succumbed in less than ten. This made it much more difficult for a possible cure to combat the virus. If you were bitten, you could not perform any amputations, which had been largely successful during the first stages of the outbreak. Once infected, the only was of not turning was to eat a bullet.

Killbot finally reached his destination. It was the recently built missions board, which was covered by people offering large rewards if their loved ones were brought back safely. Killbot walked near it, and called out:

"If there is anyone who is willing to help others, and have some ability to survive deep into the city, come forward."

People just stared at him. It was like he was doing some terrible wrong, like shouting some obscene word in the middle of a worship service. Finally, a woman walked up to him, and whispered:

"You're in the wrong area. If you want to organize a party going into the inner city, go to the meeting hall. Inside, is a room labeled "Party Requests"

Feeling incredibly stupid, Killbot walked back to the meeting hall, and to the requesting room. He then asked the same question. Many people talked to him, but they were mostly young people who were terribly equipped or potential companions, wishing him luck, but nothing more. Just when he began to lose hope, the boy that he had seen near the pit walked up to him.

"You want to go in deep then." He said. "Then I'm coming with you. I've herd about what happened to Sabertooth. It is supposed to be top secret, so naturally lots of people know."

"We will be going in much different though," Killbot stated. "They did not think about the amount of zombies they were going to attract. They did what their first instinct was: to go in, armed with the biggest and most powerful weapons they could find, and "kick ass." We, on the other hand, are going silent."

"Silent?" The boy asked.

"Yes, silent." Killbot answered. "We will stick to the least infected routes, never shooting, and even when we do, our guns will be silenced. We will need more people, but no more than five."

"Well, we aren't going to have much firepower, but I guess we won't need it if there aren't many zombies." Said the boy.

They waited for a while, trying to recruit more people. Most had herd what had happened to the heavily armed group, and they immediately shook their heads. Any group of that size would be killed off easily. Some listened, but dismissed them. Only one person other than Emrys, as Killbot had learned the boy's name to be, had signed up. It was a twenty five year old girl, which had made them skeptical to how well she would react to the intense violence. Their concerns were put to rest when they learned that she knew how to repair amour on the fly, and could shoot decently with the large semi-automatic handgun strapped to her side. The group of three decided to wait until the morning to depart, and bidding each other goodnight, went to bed.

Killbot had trouble sleeping that night, he was like a prisoner on the night before his planned escape. Jumpy, anticipating, and above all, imagining the feeling of claws ripping his stomach to shreds. He finally fell asleep, but slept lightly, and awoke many times during the night.

Moring came all too early though, and the group met at the main gate. Killbot had picked up some supplies, and handed them each ammo and some food, not wanting to carry it all by himself. He also handed the girl, who he realized that he did not know the name of yet, his machete. She needed a melee weapon, and he had contemplated giving her the kukri. But he had grown rather attached to it during the pit fight. Just as they were about to leave, Killbot spotted Elijah Wilson running to catch up with them. He arrived, looking tired and out of breath.

"I couldn't let you all go and save the world without me." He puffed.

Killbot clapped him on the shoulder, and decided to let him come. He would need every reliable person, and people like came few and far between these days. Also, he did buy a silencer just for the mission.

Killbot sniffed the morning air. It seemed fresh and clean. Not normal. It was a good omen.

"Alright, let's move out!" Shouted Killbot.

He felt alive. Lucky. The group moved forward. Into the inner city.

**Chapter 23: Not in the Plan**

The group had been moving for about an hour before they felt it. A rustling wind that swept across the deserted streets, sending old wrappers and loose trash skipping across the pavement. The Sky grew dark, threatening. With a loud clap of thunder, it began to rain. The group stood there for a moment, staring at the sky, in complete dismay. Finally, Emrys broke the silence.

"Well this sucks." He said. That pretty much summed it up. It was not a heavy rain, but it was cold, and soaked them thoroughly.

"Let's keep moving." Killbot said. "With all this noise, I don't think any zombies will be attracted to the noise we're making."

"Way to be optimistic." Elijah said grumpily. "What a day to be a hero."

The group kept a steady pace, wanting to get to the last known location of squad Echo before any possible survivors were finished off. Killbot's plan had surprised the group, but he explained that no fore, no matter how large, could completely wipe out the main body of Sabertooth, and the longer that Echo remained alone, the less of a chance there would be any survivors. Even then, there still was nearly no possibility that any of them remained. Killbot himself had heard the screams, and they were made by more than just a few men.

The first real threat that the group faced was the one that nearly killed them all. It looked easy enough. Its looks were plain, no gaping mouth, no extremely long arms, it looked like a man who had walked away from a bad car accident. Except his skin emitted a faint glow, that lit the area around him. As he approached, Killbot advanced, not wanting it to moan, and attract unwanted attention. When he was a few feet away from it, it stopped, shuddered, and twitched violently. Its chest expanded, and then exploded outwards, spraying blood and bone directly onto Killbot. He sprang back, covering his face with his hands. It was an act that saved his life. The reason that the infected's chest exploded was because something was bursting out of it. It narrowly missed Killbot, its intended target, and landed before the rest of the group. It was rather small, about the size of a ten year old child, but nothing about it resembled a human. Its bluish black body was sleek and deadly, and instead of hands, it had hooked claws, like a praying mantis. It surveyed its enemies, and then amazingly jumped up onto the side of the building. It screamed at them, and then slowly, its skin turned to the pattern of bricks behind it. The group opened fire on it, but it moved so quickly that they could not score a hit. It was a strange sight. The creature moved with the agility of a panther, and dropped to the ground, and rolled up against a car. The color of it's skin changed more quickly this time, and it nearly disappeared.

"Kill it! Before it moves again!" Shouted Killbot.

The four guns spit bullets at it, but again, it jumped out of the way with incredible speed. The skin now took no time to change, it just changed to whatever was behind it. This went on for several minutes, it would close in, only to be shot at, and back away. Then, it would try a different approach. Killbot soon realized what it was doing: Trying to wear them out. He stopped shooting, and tried to predict where it would go next. There seemed to be no pattern to its movements, they were erratic, but calculated. Getting nowhere with this, he attempted to find a defining point in the creature's body, a reference point, or a section of skin that did not change. There was none.

Growing frustrated, the group was taking more chances. Charging at it, trying to cut it off, and many other tactics. None worked. It would just move away, or disappear into the shadows. Finally, Killbot understood. He was looking for colors, not shapes. He looked for the outline of the creature. It was like a whole new world opened up to him. It became obvious where it was. He aimed, pulled the trigger, and the creature flew backwards.

"Nice shot!" Said Emrys, congratulating him.

"Look for their outline, not colors from now on." Killbot stated. "How's everyone doing?"

"Not so good. We've used up a third of our ammo, on one zombie!" Said Laura, "We'll need to be careful if we don't want to run out."

The group agreed that there was to be no more shooting until they found more ammo. They continued down the ruined road, kicking rocks, and scattered bits of soggy trash along the way. There was no talking.

The rain grew worse. It was not a "God's sent water for our crops" rain, but an angry, mad-as-hell "Get out of my city" rain. The wind blew in gusts, spraying the group, driving freezing cold wet onto their skin. It penetrated all protection, chilling them to the bone.

"Get inside!" Killbot ordered. Nobody needed to be told twice.

They rushed into the nearest building, which had used to be a post office. Mail was still sitting in some of the abandoned crates. They went to the sorting room, and used some of the heavy machinery to barricade the main doors. They secured the heavy shipping doors; nothing short of an irradiated longarm could get through them. They could hear powerful gusts of wind blowing against the building, making a strange howling sound. They stripped down to T-shirts and jeans, and started a fire to dry out the rest of their stuff. None of them knew how long they were going to be there, but at the moment, they were safe.

**Chapter 24: Darkness Eternal**

"Holy Shit!" Screamed Killbot, as the wall behind them exploded. The entire group was covered in rubble, save for him. A stalker had heard them, and had destroyed the wall to get them. Killbot squeezed the trigger, and rounds flew out of his XM8. The beast roared, and whipped its arm at him. Killbot rolled out of the way, and that was when he saw the horde. It was huge, thousands strong, as swarming around the brute. Seeing no way out, Killbot fled. There was no escape. He killed as many as possible, but there were too many. His backpack was ripped off by claws, his face scraped by rotting nails. Killbot rounded a corner, and dove into an old janitor's closet.

Breathing hard, Killbot sat inside, covered in darkness. The insistent pounding was driving him mad, but that was the least of his worries. With each hit, the rotting hinges of the door gave a little more ground. He saw what he must do. With a silent prayer, he raised his revolver to his chin, and squeezed the trigger.

*click*

Killbot screamed, horror twisted with panic, fury, fear and all other emotions. The door collapsed. Killbot's screams of death slowly faded away into moans. It was all over. It was a world where only the strong survive, and Scott Heimann was not strong enough.

Killbot snapped awake, cold sweat covering his body. He was breathing hard, curled into a tight ball, shielding his face from the oncoming blows of the zombies. Gradually, he realized that, in fact, he was not in a closet, and there were no twisted, broken teeth sinking into his flesh. He had had nightmares like this before, but not this descriptive. Most had been of him being alone in a dark forest, sprinting away from howling monsters, when his legs turned to lead, and all he could do was watch them slowly advance upon him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Killbot whipped around, knife in hand, ready to cut the face off of his assailant. It was Wolf.

"How the hell did you get way out here?" questioned Killbot.

"A little thing called a CB radio. Laura radioed that you had run into some trouble, so I decided to come and help" answered Wolf.

"Aren't you kind of worried about this? The whole rescue mission, I mean?" asked Killbot.

"I really haven't thought about it, I just know that to run a bar, you need reliable customers, and I can't let three of my biggest spenders out to dry." laughed Wolf.

"Well, when you put it that way, what did you bring us?" Killbot asked.

"Just some food, water, and ammo." Said, Wolf, "Listen, get back to sleep, we got a long day ahead of us."

"Nah, I'll keep watch, I couldn't sleep if I wanted too." Killbot said, and then got up, stretched, and relieved Elijah of his post.

It was getting colder. Killbot knew that by now, summer had passed and fall was setting in, so he would need to get some new clothes. Stuff like a jacket, or maybe just a windbreaker. He would also need some new shoes; the ones he had on were starting to wear out. He sighed, and looked out of one of the slits in the grate that covered the shipping bays. He could see outlines of several of the infected in the dark, aimlessly wandering about, occasionally bumping into each other. The looked so forlorn, that Killbot almost felt sorry for them. Almost. Most of them had been good people before they were infected.

"They are not people anymore." Thought Killbot "It's not their fault they got infected, its all Secronom's fault. They were more concerned with how much cash they could squeeze out of the buyers than the safety of their product. Assholes"

He continued to keep watch, until the first rays of sunlight showed. Or didn't show. The cloud cover was so heavy that morning came very late, and even then, it was extremely dark outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Killbot was sure that episodes like the one on the previous day were sure to come. Lightning split the sky. It was time to move.

**Chapter 25: Echo's Demise**

Most of the time, the inner city was a dangerous place to be in. With ravenous zombies, psychotic raiders, and the many hazards of a city that had not been maintained for a year. Now trying to find your way around in the dark. That pretty much summed up what the next few hours were like for the team.

Killbot had stopped the group for a rest, and they needed it. Most of the squads for Sabertooth had a two day head start on them, and they did not know if the squads had stopped moving yet. So they had been running blind, hoping to gain a much distance before something bad happened. They had not encountered nearly as many zombies as usual, and this made all of them tenser. It seemed like if they let their guard down for even a moment, that was when the infected would strike.

Killbot's muscles ached from the running, but his gut hurt the worst. He knew that he should be taking it easy, as he was uncertain as to how the scar tissue would hold up to running. The last thing that he wanted was for his gut to split open in the middle of a fight. He sank to the ground, letting his pack slide off his shoulders. A faint metallic *clink* was heard, and he paused to investigate. He found a small pistol casing, the back stamped 9mm. It standard issue for the Fairview PD, and had been almost useless at stopping a zombie, save for a headshot. Finding a casing in the inner city was common; they littered the streets where previous battles took place. Finding one that had been fired recently, though, that was different.

"Hey." He called to the group "check this out, it's still warm."

"Still warm?" asked Wolf, as he walked over to Killbot, a look of excitement on his face. "Then let's keep moving, maybe it belonged to someone from Echo."

"Yeah," Killbot said, and picked up his gear.

They could smell the rot before they saw it. The group rounded a corner and gasped at the scene before them. A large mall sat before them, its parking lot filled with bodies. A good thousand corpses littered the ground, most of them torn completely in half. They became more concentrated as they moved towards the entrance, until a large pile was nearly blocking the front door. Blood smeared the windows, most of them broken.

"Hold shit…" whispered Elijah.

"Somebody made a hell of a last stand here." said Killbot solemnly.

"And not too long ago, the blood isn't completely died yet." said Emrys "there might still be people inside!"

The group picked their was across the mounds of bodies that adorned the ground, until they reached the front door. They could hear moans inside, so they looked for a side entrance. They found a small door leading into a large refrigerator in the back, spoiled food was all that was inside. Peeking through the circular windows, Killbot counted nearly twenty infected wandering around inside. He turned to the others, and said:

"Me and Wolf will take care of this, just stay here in case things get ugly. We need that door as an emergency escape route."

Nobody seemed disappointed that they were not chosen, and they began watching for any signs of the infected. Killbot and Wolf moved out into the open, and opened fire. It was almost terrifying, the infected turned towards them, and a collective moan went up. That and the casings hitting the ground was the only sound, the guns emitted no explosions of noise when they fired. Most of the zombies died before they could take three steps towards them. A few of the more persistent ones were cut down a few seconds later. All in all, it had taken them less than fifteen seconds to clear the main floor of the mall.

"Alright, it's clear." Called Killbot "Let's look for some evidence of Echo squadron"

"How do you know they died here?" asked Wolf.

"Because this is in the area that they disappeared, lots of fresh bodies…" Counted Killbot, and they began searching.

They found nothing of interest on the first floor, not even supplies. The mall had been picked clean by many looters, everything else was smashed. It was on the second floor that they found bodies. The carnage grew worse until they reached a small office, inside was a mangled skeleton, a shortwave radio strapped to its back. They had found the remains of the Echo radioman. He had put up a good fight, but had been overwhelmed be sheer force of numbers. On him they found a .40 caliber pistol, and four clips of ammunition. His M-16 was broken in half; its cheap plastic stock had been crushed under a strong blow from a zombie.

"Well, let's keep moving" Killbot said somberly, and they moved back to the first floor of the mall.

A few more infected had wandered into the building, and they were dealt with quickly. There was no talking. Nobody wanted to talk. Their only hope was to find the rest of Sabertooth's men, and hopefully with them, a purpose for them to keep fighting.

**Chapter 26: Sabertooth**

Killbot, Wolf, Elijah, Laura, and Emrys were hot, sweaty and thirsty. They had been hiking all day, without even so much as a glimpse of Project Sabertooth. The sun was sinking in the sky, casting long shadows all about them. This made every infected that they encountered seem larger, stronger, faster. The sad part about it was that it was true. They had seen numerous new zombies, each one slightly different from the rest. Most were similar to the average infected, but each one had a new feature, such as a claw, longer legs, a bigger head, and the like. No two were alike. Killbot had reasoned that the N-4 was mutating yet again, giving the new zombies stranger looks. All of them would still die though.

After a particularly frustrating infected attacked, Killbot finally went psycho. All of his frustration, fear, and anger had built up until he exploded into a rage, emptying an entire clip on the creature, then stomping on it repeatedly after it was dead. The rest of the group kept a slightly larger distance from him after that. He was pissed; he wanted to hit a wall. He strode out, pushing the pace until some of the group stopped without him telling them to. This enraged him, but he could not understand why. "People should follow orders." Killbot grumbled before he sat down to rest.

They took a slightly longer break than intended, and there was about a half-hour of sunlight left in the day. The others wanted to set up camp for the night. Killbot refused. They tried to reason with him, but he would have none of it. He finally got up and left. Saying: "I'll be back in a few hours."

No one in the group liked this. Going out alone was a bad idea, and the fact that it was getting dark made it worse. "Let him go." Emrys said "If he kills himself, that's his fault."

Killbot ran. He liked running. He moved quickly, enjoying the sound of his feet softly slapping the pavement. When he was running, he didn't have to listen, to think. He completed a half mile jog, not too long, and turned to go back. Something caught his eye though. After looking at it for a while, he finally realized what it was. He turned back to tell the others.

The group reached the point nearly forty-five minutes later. They all saw them: Lights. This, although not uncommon in the Outpost, was an entirely different story in the city. It meant civilization. The group moved cautiously, not knowing who was inside the building. It was heavily barricaded, strong wooden planks covered every window and door, and burnt out cars had been painstakingly moved to form a "wall" outside of it. Killbot approached, ready to flee at any moment, but at the same time, excited that they may have found Sabertooth's stronghold. He called out:

"Anyone alive in there?"

He heard rustling going on inside, then a voice called out;

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Sabertooth." Killbot called out.

This brought about joyous cheers from inside, as the barricade was hastily pulled down. A few men rushed out, and ushered them inside. It was warm, and the smell of food wafted around the room. There were about twenty people in the main room of the apartment complex, all relaxing on couches or playing cards with each other. They were brought before a man clad in a midnight armor, a large black pistol strapped to his leg. He took one look at the group, and his face showed confusion.

You say you were from Sabertooth." He said, "Yet you do not have any proof."

"We came as a later group to investigate what happened to Echo squadron." Killbot said.

"Do you have any information?" The man asked.

"They were wiped out, we found their remains, and did not see or hear of any survivors." Killbot explained

Silence lay heavily in the room. Faces ashen, many of the men turned away.

"I am sorry to hear that." The leader said. "I had many friends there. But before anything else, I must ask you a few more questions."

He asked each of the group about things that they say, zombies encountered, and the like. The process took nearly an hour. When they were done, they ate some food from the kitchen. Bellies full, they lay down to sleep. Killbot was out almost instantly, sleeping on a squashy armchair. He was warm, safe, and among good company. Tomorrow, they were going to work as Sabertooth's newest recruits.

Chapter 27: The Search

For the first time that he could remember, Killbot slept soundly. He had no dreams, just a gap in memory that left him refreshed and awake. He ate breakfast, talking with some of the soldiers. They all wanted to hear what had happened to Echo. He explained to them that he did not know what had happened, just what had been received over the transmission. They pretty much left him alone after that.

Killbot began searching the new safe-haven that he found himself in. It was larger than he had originally thought, it had eight floors, and nearly five rooms per floor. There were also more men, weapons, and ammunition than he had ever hoped for. He purchased a hundred and fifty .223 rounds, which his XM8 so greedily ate up. He now had just over four clips, and he could not waste a single round. He remembered how he had wasted fifty rounds on one of the stupid infected. He could not loose his temper like that again.

After searching the building, Killbot found that there were three ways to pass the time. Sleep, play cards, or shoot zombies from the upper floors. The last seemed to be the most popular, as nearly thirty men were constantly destroying the infected. Killbot almost laughed when he heard what rifle's they were using: .22 rim-fires. His laughing stopped, however, when he saw a man take down five of the infected in a seven round clip. Confused on how this was possible, he soon learned that if the bullet penetrated the zombie's skull, it would not have enough force to break out the other side. It would ricochet around the inside of its cranium, turning its brain into Swiss cheese. Also, you could easily carry over two thousand rounds, which eliminated the chance of running out of ammo. But, on the downside, nothing but a direct headshot would even slow down a zombie. He tried his luck, and was only able to destroy two of the infected. He quickly abandoned this effort, seeing that he was not as accurate as the other men. He reloaded their clips for a while, marveling at the amount of ammunition they had brought. Every sporting goods store must have been looted of all the ammo on their way here.

Killbot talked with the other soldiers for a while, trying to get a grip on what they were doing, and how successful they were thus far. Most of the men had come just to break out of the boring routine of everyday life in the outpost. Others wanted to stop the N-4. Others just wanted to kill zombies. But all of them agreed on one thing: something had to be done. He soon became bored of this, so, with nothing else to do, he went to sleep.

It had been a few hours since Killbot had went to sleep, when there was four sharp knocks at the door, then two slow ones. Everyone rushed to the entrance. They quickly took down the barricade, and let the men inside. They were so covered in filth and grime that Killbot had no idea of their race or age. They were dressed in full combat gear; most of them carried large rifles and SMG's.

"What were they doing?" he wondered aloud.

"Their Delta" an excited man answered "on recon- scouting out and mapping the area around the city."

"I thought Delta was gone!" Killbot answered "There was no response on the radio at Nastya's Outpost."

"Well, there are a few gone…" said the man uneasily "they probably ran into some trouble."

The men were debriefed by the commander, and then dismissed. They were flooded by people, all wanting to know what happened. From what Killbot gathered, they had run into a large group of crawlers, and had nearly been overwhelmed. They managed to find a weakness though, apparently, crawlers could not bend at the waist, so it was hard for them to fight in close quarters. Killbot was about to leave when he heard a familiar voice.

"Slayer?" Killbot called.

"What the?" one of the soldiers answered. He turned towards Killbot, and a broad grin spread across his face.

"What are you doing here? I thought that you were in the hospital, dying of internal bleeding? He asked

"I couldn't let you have all the fun!" Killbot said "What have you been up to?"

"Oh, the usual." Slayer answered "killing zombies, saving the day…"

"Right." Sighed Killbot "and Bleach is probably under a thick layer of grime too."

"Nah, Bleach got a wimpy job, something about keeping us supplied." Slayer laughed.

"Supplied?" Killbot asked, horror rising in his chest "That was Echo's Squad's mission…."

"Yeah, so?" Slayer asked.

Killbot was quiet for a long time. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak:

"Get yourself cleaned up. We have a lot to talk about."

**Chapter 28: Rescue Mission**

It took Slayer all of thirty seconds to clean up. He disappeared momentarily in the dressing room and then returned, wiping war paint off of his face while changing from an urban camouflage suit to some baggy jeans and a loose t-shirt. He sat down in a nearby chair and asked;

"So, what's up with Echo?" His tone revealed that he knew what was going to be said, just refusing to believe it until it actually came from Killbot's mouth.

"Echo was wiped out by an unknown force. I was speaking to the radio man when he died. We found his remains in a mall to the west."

"Goddam." Slayer squeezed his eyes shut.

He sat in silence for a while, each trying to control his emotions. The seconds turned to minutes as Killbot awaited his reply. In the few days that he had known them, Slayer and Bleach seemed to be "the team." It seemed like they could survive anything. Slayer looked at him, braking his train of thought.

"We're going to find him." He said.

Killbot nodded. He could think of nothing else to do.

"When do we leave?" Asked Killbot.

"Now."

Within thirty minutes, they were equipped. Killbot had little to do to prepare, he just threw some food and ammo into his canvas backpack, and strapped his LR8 to his chest. Slayer, on the other hand, took longer. He returned carrying a heavy duffel bag, which he clamed "was filled with lots of nasty surprises."

They departed shortly after planning their route, stopping only to drink as much water as possible, they had decided to leave and extra water due to its weight. They got some strange glances as they asked to leave, but no one stopped them. Slayer led the way, jogging three streets before stopping to rest. He unzipped his backpack, and began pulling out what appeared to be a bunch of broken weapons.

"What are those?" asked Killbot.

Slayer smiled, and quickly assembled them. Soon, a huge black rifle was in his hands. It had a large clip size. A scope, and a attachable grenade launcher sticking out from the body. Killbot had never seen one before, probably because it was custom made. Slayer looked at it for a moment, thoughtful, and then snapped his fingers. He pulled a blade out of the bag, and fixed it to the end of the gun. All in all, it looked like something from one of those robot killing movies.

"Nice…" Killbot trailed off. "What do you call it.?"

"The ZEBRA" answered Slayer with a smirk.

"Zebra?" prompted Killbot.

"Zombies Everywhere Better fucking Run Away. Fucking is not supposed to be in there, but it makes it sound so much better." Slayer laughed.

"Fitting name." Killbot mused. "Well, we're not finding Bleach just standing around here, are we?"

"That we are not." Slayer said, and hefted the rifle to his shoulder. "Let's go."

Killbot jogged with Slayer for a while, until he felt a deep set ache in his gut. He slowed down to a walk, catching his breath. Slayer tuned to look at him, and Killbot pointed to his stomach. Slayer nodded, and they slowed their pace for a while.

They passed ruined shops and burnt out buildings. This was the section of town where there was first confrontation with the infected population. There had been riots, lootings, and vast destruction. Still, it paled in comparison to the other major cities in the area. In a last ditch effort to stop the spread, the government ordered mass bombings of urban centers. Entire cities were blown apart and burned to the ground. Still, it did little to stop the advance of the zombies. The walking corpses could survive more than ten times the bodily damage that any living animal could endure. Their torsos could be severed in half, and still they would crawl to their prey. Fairview was probably spared because whoever was ordered to destroy the city had either failed, or just disobeyed orders. It was an act that had saved them all.

The first encounter of the day was with a few crawlers. Killbot remembered how ferocious they had looked when he had first seen them, but now they seemed less deadly, less of a threat. Slayer dealt with them in a matter of seconds. He raised his rifle, and squeezed the trigger. The gun fired three rounds of burst fire, and all of them found their mark. The crawlers became red splashes on the pavement. Killbot looked at the gun with a new interest.

"What happened to The Jackal?" asked Killbot.

"It asked its older brother for some help." Laughed Slayer.

Moving through the city was slow. They had to navigate around piles of rubble and huge craters where gas lines had exploded. They twice crossed a police barricade, which had been overwhelmed and now was just a slight annoyance to the infected population. Killbot killed a screamer before it could emit a sound. Other than that, it unusually quiet. They did not complain, but it seemed as if they would rather be fighting than just waiting for an attack. The damage grew worse and worse, until they could not continue in the main street. Large car pile-ups in the street nearly boxed them in. They found themselves in a large parking lot, littered with dry bones. A large, nondescript building loomed in front of them, its stark white walls dirtied with grime and smoke. Someone painted "Satan Lives Here" in large letters. Neither Slayer nor Killbot had ever seen the building before. Walking around the parameter revealed nothing. Getting frustrated, they were about to leave when Killbot spotted a small sidearm, lying in the bushes. He picked it up, and asked Slayer if he needed a pistol, as this one was a top notch model. Slayer took one look at it, and snatched it out of his hands. His hands nearly shook as he stared at it.

"This was Bleach's. He bought it before we left." Slayer said.

"What are we waiting for? Let's get inside!" Killbot rushed to the entrance, Slayer just a step behind him.

They had little problem getting in. They simply pushed in the automatic glass doors, which, surprisingly, were still intact. It was an accounting firm, which meant that the inside was splashed with the blood of people who had been caught off guard by the deadly infection. Large rooms full of cubicles appeared, one after another. The smell of rot was heavy in the air. They passed into yet another room, but this one was radically different from the others. Fresh corpses littered the floors, and there was overturned furniture, as if someone was fleeing and trying to slow his pursuers down. They came to a stairwell, with two floor levels below the main floor.

"We need to split up." Slayer decided "We'll cover more ground that way."

"Ummmm... that's what people said in all the old horror movies before they were killed, one by one." Killbot said.

"They were stupid." Slayer scoffed. "Let's barricade the door, THEN check for zombies."

"Whatever." Killbot sighed, and took the lower level. Slayer wanted sub-level 1 because he thought that that way, if anything came in, it would meet him first. And he, having the bigger gun, would be ready for them.

Killbot reached his door, and, seeing that it was locked, kicked it in. Inside, it was like all the others, except darker. He switched on his flashlight and saw that the room was full of dusty computers, old files, and the like. He was about to give up and leave when he saw a large metal door stating "Warning- High Voltage- Authorized Personnel Only!" He raised his gun, and gave the door a strong kick. It did not budge. He kicked again. Still, it refused to move. Sighing, Killbot lowered his gun, and took his backpack off. He placed it in the center of the doorframe, and with one swift motion, threw his shoulder into it. The door cracked open, and Killbot lunged forward and grabbed the door, millimeters before it hit the wall behind it. No one, not even a possible zombie inside, could have heard the forced entry.

There was a lot of electrical equipment, switch boxes, and any other imaginable equipment in the room. Killbot pushed aside some old blueprints, looking for some batteries for his flashlight, when he saw _another_door, concealed behind a large file cabinet. He shifted the bulk aside, and looked at the door intently. It bore no marks, its thick steel frame secured by heavy locking mechanisms. Killbot shot these off, and the door swung inward, noiselessly. Inside, was pure blackness. Every fiber of his being screamed for Killbot to run, but instead he advanced. Cautiously, step by step, he moved down the metal stairwell. He was waiting for something to jump out at him, to tear at him, anything, but soon, he realized that the door had been locked. Nothing could have gotten in, unless it had the key.

Killbot's LED flashlight illuminated only a small area in front of him. There, it was bright, but the light was not strong enough to light anything farther than twenty feet forward. There, the stairwell stretched into oblivion, into nothingness. Killbot began to move faster, until he has nearly running down the stairs. Suddenly, a wall loomed in front of him. He had been led to a small room, nearly twenty meters underground. The scent of must was heavy in his nostrils, making him want to sneeze. He shone his flashlight around, looking for a purpose of the hidden room. His flashlight fell on a set of double doors, a sign posted on the side. Killbot stepped closer to read it. His heart stopped when he recognized the familiar symbol.

Secronom "The Future, Today"

**Chapter 29: Underground Discovery**

"This, this was where it all begun. This was the birthplace of the apocalypse." Killbot thought. "What horrors await me?"

He did the natural thing. He pushed the doors open wide, and strutted in.

The dim beam of his flashlight illuminated overturned desks, smashed computer monitors, and papers in disarray all over the floor. There was less blood than Killbot had expected, only a few bodies here and there, but they were badly decomposed. A thick layer of dist covered the room, muffling every sound made by him. Killbot's eyes began to adjust, and he was able to make out dark outlines of unknown objects. He realized that, if lost, he might never find his way out.

Quickly scanning the room, he found what he was looking for. He tore the fire escape plan off of the wall next to the doors he had just entered, and looked it over. The lab was less complex than he had originally thought; only about thirty rooms total. Killbot moved forward, towards one of three doorways that were in the room. Its door was closed, so he believed that there was something important in there. He tried to open it, but it was locked.

"I'm getting really tired of locked doors." Killbot muttered, and then promptly shot the doorknob until it had broken free of the locking mechanism.

He entered, gun raised. All that was inside was a desk, a crumpled body lying on top of it. Noting that the man had shot himself, Killbot searched the body for any gun. He found it, but discarded it. It was one of those crappy .22 "tactical" versions. One thing did catch his eye though. Lying underneath the man was a laptop. Killbot tossed the body out of its chair, and sat down in it.

"You don't mind? Do you?" he asked.

The body remained silent.

"Didn't think so." Killbot mused, and then turned to the computer. This man was a lab-tech, so he probably had turned this off before taking his own life. He punched the power button, and the monitor flickered to life.

There was no password, so Killbot immediately began searching for information. He noted that the battery was half dead, so he would have to make it quick. After about fifteen minutes of searching, Killbot stumbled upon the man's digital journal. He flicked through the days, hoping to find something of some use. He found a date that had a large amount of text on it, so he checked it out. It held more information than he had prayed for.

Apparently, Secronom was working on "bio-soldiers" and "controlled mutations." The virus was supposed to change the host's genetic structure, giving it the ability to mutate at will. According to the journal, they had gotten close. But they had reached a fetal flaw: the virus was contagious, and it could not be controlled. Yet, the human tests were approved, and studies were conducted. The patients were referred to as "zombies" because they, driven by hunger, tried to eat anything and everything they came in contact with; mainly their caretakers. Nearly three weeks after their creation, a "trainer" was bitten, and did not report it. He escaped to the outside world, and told his story. He was never heard from again. Shortly after, police raided the building, and, well, you know the rest. But, for some reason, tests in the lab in Fairview continued, even after they were given strict orders to shut down.

The owner of the computer, Dr. David Johnson, had continued human tests, hoping to create what would destroy the N-4. Instead, he created an even worse strand of the virus, and unleashed it upon mankind. The infected were stronger, smarter, and probably the worst of all, could mutate. It turned out that the new infected "race" as he called it, was not driven by a ravenous hunger, but a natural urge to reproduce. It targeted their host race, the humans, and would infect them to continue their species. Once a certain variety of the infected were killed off, the remaining population mutated into a new species, one that would better it's ability to hunt down humans, and create more of it's own kind. This explained the dwindling number of normal zombies, and more of the strange, new infected.

Killbot shut the computer off, deep in thought. The "zombies" as he called them, were not a scourge, they were not a bunch of freaks. They were nature's way of weeding out the weak, and making more of the strong. This changed his entire outlook on life. He would not become prey. He was not weak. If it was survival of the fittest, then he would prove why humans had dominated all life on the planet. Killbot swore that he would not rest until each and every infected on the planet was dead.

Killbot placed the computer into his bag and got up, then stretched. With a start, he remembered that he was supposed to meet up with Slayer ten minutes ago. Shaking his head, he left the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Killbot noticed a faint blue glow coming out of the other room. He entered it, and saw that it was a lab viewing area. The blue light was coming from a huge water tank, filled with a strange liquid. Killbot advanced on it, noting that there was still electricity powering it. There were several batteries; much like the one's that you would see on nuclear submarines, supplying the energy to the engines when they were sneaking up on an enemy ship. Three had red lights showing empty, the fourth on yellow, and one remaining on green. Whatever this was, it had been on since the first outbreak. When Killbot looked inside of the tank, he wished that he hadn't.

Inside was a monstrosity. It made the stalker and the behemoth look like china dolls. Lying in the tank, it was twenty-two feet long. Huge, knotted muscles covered its arms, and instead of fingers, it had long, hooked claws. It had only one eye, poised in the center of its head, like a Cyclops. Its mouth was massive, so large that it could bite a grown man in half. Killbot stared at it, and the name "tyrant" came to mind. It was what they called the huge beasts like it in Resident Evil. Across the room, was a glass box with a single vial inside. Killbot walked over and pulled it out, wondering what it was. The panned below it read "Nerotonian 5." Killbot was so stunned that he nearly dropped the vial.

"This was what made the thing in the tank." he thought.

Killbot walked over to the tank, again looking at the alien being inside it. He placed his hand on the glass, glancing from the vial to the monster and back again. The tank began to hum, and Killbot felt a tingling sensation up his arm. The monster opened its eye, and stared directly at him. The tank beeped. Killbot jerked his hand back. The tank beeped again. The giant stirred. Killbot fled.

He got outside before he heard the glass shatter. He was halfway up the stairs when the beast roared. He was out of the electric room before the monster gave pursuit. The hunt was on.

**Chapter 30: Balance of Power**

Killbot ran. Nothing else mattered. He pushed through the offices, desperate on finding the exit. He hardly noticed Slayer and Bleach standing on the top of the stairs leading to the ground level. They called out to him, but instead of explaining, Killbot yelled, "Run! Now!" They did not need to be told twice.

The group plunged out the front doors before they questioned him.

"What's down there?" Slayer demanded.

"Where's my "welcome back Bleach!" Bleach joked.

Killbot gave no reply; he began backing away from the building, eyes wide with terror.

"What's down there?" Slayer again demanded.

"Something bad..." Killbot finally answered.

Out of the confines of the building, came another roar. It was closer than before. The tyrant was breaking out.

"It's time to go." Killbot stated, and again ran.

"Yeah, I think your right." Bleach agreed, and followed him.

They were nearly a block away from the abandoned Secrenom facility when the infected broke free. It's long claws tore through the wall like it was cardboard. It slammed its fists on the ground, gave a howl, and began pursuing them. It did not run, but covered much ground due to its long strides. Slayer shot at it a couple of times with the zebra, but the bullets did not even seem to tickle the beast. It marched on, face set in a constant growl. They would need more firepower to bring this thing down.

The thing was nearly on top of them before Killbot came up with a plan. "Split up! We'll meet back at the base." He called, and turned right. Bleach went left, and Slayer stayed straight. Killbot sprinted down a side street, the turned to see where the N-5 infected was. It was following him. Hunting him. Fear slammed into his gut. Killbot turned and jogged away from the creature, noticing that fear wasn't the only thing hurting his gut. The recently healed wounds that he had received earlier that week were beginning to tear open. He would have to slow down. Slowing down meant that he would be eaten, so Killbot searched for an alternative. He scanned through the cars and debris, when he saw what he would use. An old bike lay rusting on the sidewalk.

Soon Killbot was racing down streets on the bike. He dumped all his supplies out, save for the laptop, the vial of N-5, and his weapons. They would do nothing for him now, save for slow him down. The N-5 creature, seeing that its target was slipping away, began to pick up the pace. Whatever speed Killbot went, the infected matched it. "It's trying to wear me out." Killbot thought, and so he doubled his efforts to reach Sabertooth's base before he _did_wear out. He did not know exactly where he was, but he knew that the facility was about a thirty-minute walk from the base. At the speed he was going, he would reach it in about ten. Still, he did not know if he would make it. The pains in his gut had gotten worse, each time he pushed on the pedal, a throb of pain pulsed.

Somehow, he did make it to the base, and found a line of survivors waiting for him. Killbot skidded to a halt, next to a man dressed in full exterminator gear.

"How..." Killbot gasped.

"Slayer radioed in. Says it's something big." The man replied.

"Very big." Killbot answered, and turned to look for the Tyrant. It was nowhere in sight.

He scanned the buildings, searching for where it might be hiding. It suddenly appeared, slowly marching towards them. Some of the men seemed startled by it's size; others regarded it with cool confidence. Killbot understood why. Each of the exterminators carried more firepower than a fully outfitted platoon of soldiers. What they lacked was range, but that never made a difference. They were not fighting an opponent with the ability to strike at a distance. The N-5 monster stopped, and stared at them, calculating. Without warning, and with incredibly speed, it snatched a mid-sized sedan off the road, and hurled it at Killbot. He dropped to the ground and covered his head. He heard cries of fear, a shriek of metal against metal, and finally a loud crash as it hit the ground. Killbot looked up. The sedan had hit the ground a few meters away from him, reducing several exterminators to wet smears on the pavement.

The Tyrant roared, then charged at the survivors. Gunfire erupted from numerous guns, but it did not even slow the thing down. The N-5 creature tore into Sabertooth's ranks, killing many men with only a few sweeps of its claws. Killbot did not remember getting to his feet, or shooting at the Tyrant. He relied on instinct. Killbot found himself next to a heavily armored soldier, wielding the formidable GAU-19. The barrels began to spin, and in a short moment it unleashed a hurricane of lead upon the Tyrant.

The GAU is a terror on the battlefield. Weighing in at nearly a hundred and fifty pounds unleaded, it can unleash nearly twenty hard hitting .50 caliber rifle bullets per second. Originally made as an anti-tank turret for military helicopters, the GAU could make quick work of any mob of the infected. But the Tyrant was not a mob. Its entire genetic structure was based on killing other beings. It would learn your tactics as you fought it, and then modify itself in the best way to kill you. The rain of bullets originally forced the Tyrant back, blowing of huge chunks of flesh with the impact of each bullet. The N-5 soon realized that it could not stand up to such an assault, so it modified its body to fit the need of the fight. Its body became soft, allowing every bullet to pass directly through it with minimal damage.

"What the..." The exterminator cried out as the Tyrant scooped him up and tore him in half, throwing away the pieces. It advanced, oblivious to all gunfire, directly towards Killbot.

Killbot knew that he was dead. Nothing could stop this thing. Still, he did not want to die. He turned and fled. It was futile. With a wave, the Tyrant raked its long claws across Killbot's back. It tore through his armor, leaving jagged cuts all across his back. White-hot agony spread across his entire body as Killbot fell to the ground. He turned his eyes upward, staring at the creature. It stared at hum, almost as if it was gloating. Time slowed down. Killbot faintly heard shouting, but they were all blended together, making no sense. The N-5 stumbled above him, pushed away by some unseen force. Killbot craned his neck to see what was happening, and saw several dark figures fading in and out of existence, bright flashes of light burst from weapons of war.

Killbot's entire body went cold. He felt an alien presence nearby. A cold hand touched his shoulder. Killbot followed the arm, to a torso, to a face. The man, dressed entirely in black, with a midnight hood covering his face, spoke to Killbot in whispering tones.

"Your time has not yet come. Take this, and with it, save your people from disaster." The strange man said.

"What? I don't..." Killbot stuttered.

"There is no time. It approaches." The dark figure stated. "It is not yet your time..."

The man placed a strange shaped gun on Killbot's chest, then melted back into the shadows. Killbot was faintly aware of the cold receding, the presence lifting. He looked up at the approaching Tyrant, knowing what he must do. He grasped the weapon, and painstakingly got to his feet. The N-5 creature roared, and charged towards him. Moments before the Tyrant collided with him, Killbot squeezed the trigger, firing a concussion grenade thirty centimeters above his head, directly into the Mutant. The explosion tore apart the world. A was of superheated metal fragments, flame, and gasses, enveloped both of them. Killbot was thrown thirty feet back, into a chain link fence. The monster was knocked over, falling unceremoniously to the ground. The last thing Killbot saw before blacking out was the monster fleeing, a clutching the smoking crater in the center of its chest.

Killbot awoke to Bleach giving him CPR. He could not hear anything, and his body did not move when he ordered it to do so. A faint sucking sound was in the distance, growing louder until it was the roar of a hurricane. Comprehension came back to him, along with the rush of sounds, smells, and most of all, pain.

"He's going into shock." Bleach muttered.

"It hurts! I'm on fire!" Killbot screamed.

"You have third degree burns all over your body." Bleach explained.

Killbot writhed in pain, only to have more erupt up his arm.

"Someone help me brace his arm, it's broken!" commanded Bleach. "God, where is Nerotonian when you need it."

"Check his bag." Someone suggested.

Bleach rummaged through Killbot's red canvas backpack, and pulled out a blue vial, raising it in triumph.

"Got some." He said excitedly, and began drawing it into a needle.

Bleach exposed Killbot's arm, and lowered the needle. Only then did Killbot comprehend what was in the vial. The N-5. Dark horror smothered him, and he struggled to get away.

"Hold him, he'll hurt himself." A voice said.

Strong hands grasped him, restraining him. He could not escape. He could only watch helplessly as the needle inched closer and closer to his skin. He felt it puncture, felt the contents flow into his bloodstream. His arm went immediately numb. The N-5 flowed throughout his body, until it reached his brain. Blackness covered him.

**Chapter 31: Six Weeks Later**

Slayer forced in the small sparkplug back into the engine. Sparkplugs were hard to come by nowadays, as all the abandoned cars engines had fully rusted, leaving all parts unusable. It was a little over a year and a half after the first reports of the zombies had trickled through the tightly censored media, and still, there was no sign of stopping the infestation. The population of Nastya's Holdout was steadily diminishing; many of the "houses" were left empty, until a new resident claimed it. Only the very experienced ever left for the inner city, all other survivors concentrated on defending the outpost when it was attacked. When, not if. Each day, hundreds of the mutated infected swarmed the walls, only to be beaten back by the makeshift weapons of the defenders. Ammunition was scarce, only to be used if the zombies breached the main walls. The morale of the outpost was the lowest it had been since a behemoth left the marketplace in ruins. Slayer heard footsteps behind him; he turned to see who it was. It was Bleach.

"Is she ready to run?" Bleach asked.

"Yup, all we need now is gas." Slayer chuckled.

"That'll be easy to find." Bleach shook his head. "You know of any that hasn't seized up?"

"I had a few gallons that I put some stabilizer in, it should still be good." Slayer explained.

"I'll be happy once this is over and done with." Bleach said. "We just have to hunt down the remaining N-5 creatures and then we'll retire."

"Yeah. Once the N-5 is gone, it'll be a lot safer in the outpost." Slayer said.

By now, the N-5 was old news. In Killbot's canvas backpack, they had found a laptop containing information on the strands of Nerotonian, how they worked, and, more importantly, how to destroy each one. Scientists in the outpost were working had on finding a cure, but having little success.

"You know," bleach said, "there have been sightings of a new creature."

"What kind?" Slayer asked.

"A different kind." Bleach explained, "One that kills the infected. It's not supposed to be deformed, and about human sized."

"There are crazy sightings every day." Slayer snorted, "Santa Clause was selling deadly candy canes at Christmas, remember?"

"This one is different. All the sightings are near where Sabertooth's outpost was. Where Killbot shot the Tyrant."

Slayer nodded, and then said "still, it might be a N-5 creature, or worse. We should go check it out."

"Agreed." Bleach said. "Get this thing up and running, and we make a round trip, apparently there are a few N-5 infected holed up in a restaurant somewhere."

"I will." Slayer said, and bleach departed.

_The next day…_

Slayer, Bleach, and a few other survivors roared down the road at high speed, tearing down and infected in their way. They had just finished off three of the N-5 infected, so spirits were high. Suddenly, a voice in the back screamed "RPG!" There was a deafening explosion as the projectile hit the truck. It soared in the air for a moment, and then crashed to the ground. Stunned by the explosion, Slayer lay in the cab of the truck, unable to move. He felt himself forcefully ripped from the interior, then drug away from the wreckage, and laid next to Bleach and another survivor of the explosion.

They were disarmed, and tied down, as a large man walked up to Bleach.

"So, you decided to come in the red skulls territory, did you? It doesn't matter, you'll be dead soon enough not to tell anyone where we are." The man laughed, and pulled out a large knife.

Several other members approached, carrying machine guns and rifles. They all seemed eager to do away with the intruders themselves, but watched out of respect for their leader. The man took hold of Bleach's hair, and jerked it upward, exposing his neck. The leader's arm the knife flashed, and stopped a hairsbreadth from Bleach's skin.

"What?" The leader said, and turned to see what had stopped his arm.

A man stood there, covered in black leather. He pulled out and up on the leaders arm, snapping it up until it broke. In the same motion, the man in black reached over the leaders head, forcing it under his armpit. He arched his back, breaking the neck of the evil man. All the other gang members opened fire at once, but the figure leapt backward, impossibly far, behind the burning hulk of Slayer's truck. Two members advanced, only to be gunned down by a sniper in a nearby roof. The rest turned and fled.

Bleach saw his savior walk towards him, and felt the ropes binding him snap. The man freed Slayer, and the remaining survivor.

"Thank you. Bleach said, and extended his hand.

The sniper that had shot the two gang members appeared next to them, and motioned for them to leave, then bounded away, moving much too fast to be human. The other stayed for a moment longer, as if hesitating, then ripped off the strange mask he was wearing. Underneath, a twisted face of horror awaited them. It looked like someone had stretched the skin so that you could see the white of skull under it. His lips were pulled into a terrible smile, his eyes burned with the fire of a madman. The man reached up, and traced a long scar across the side of his head, spanning from his left eye to his ear, as if he a narrowly avoided a bullet to his head. The man put his mask back on, and ran after his companion. Bleach and Slayer were speechless. The scar was identical to the one Killbot had.

"No way…" Slayer said.

"Way." Bleach said, excited.

Together, they ran off after the two figures, hoping to see a friend they thought they had lost.


End file.
